Courting Hope Page 12

  “You painted them red, white and blue.”

  Hope wiggled her piggies. “Nice, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He really needed that jump in the lake about now.

  “Let’s tie up.” She fumbled with the ribbon before finally binding their ankles together.

  But when she rose to join their limbs above the knee, he took control by grabbing the ribbon. “Give me that.”

  “What’s with you?” Her eyebrows rose as he pulled the ends of the ribbon with a tight jerk.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry.” Sinclair loosened the knot and managed a double bow.

  She shook her head. “You spent three years in Haiti, and you can’t take a little northern heat?”

  “It’s the humidity that’s killing me,” he muttered.

  Judy Graves blew an earsplitting whistle and then yelled, “Everyone on your mark!”

  Sinclair looped his arm around Hope’s trim waist. She did the same to his. He looked at her pretty face and wondered what in the world he was doing. “Ready?”

  She smiled. “Uh-huh.”

  “Get set!” Judy hollered.

  Sinclair scanned the line. It was a good thing Hope’s parents were also racing so they couldn’t see him pressed against their daughter. This whole thing made him crazy.

  “Go!”

  With a leap forward, Sinclair and Hope moved as one.

  She giggled, and they faltered.

  And Sinclair suddenly wanted to win. “Step with me on my count. One.” He jerked her forward. She giggled again.

  “Come on, Hope. Two!”

  Finally, they hit their stride and gained momentum. They even passed a few people. Cheering from the sidelines deafened him, but other senses took over and distracted him. Such as the buttery scent of Hope’s sunscreen.

  He tightened his grip, but when his fingers brushed Hope’s side, his concentration wavered. He quickly let go, just as the ribbon around their thighs loosened and slipped down to their feet, tripping them.

  They were going down.

  Hope’s squeal of laughter echoed in his ears as he whipped her around in an attempt to keep them both upright and off the ground. He halted his steps, and she slammed into him. Her ankle was still tied to his, and she wobbled.

  “Steady, Ms. Petersen.” He wrapped both his arms around her back, but resisted pulling her too close.

  Her gray eyes widened as she braced both her hands against his chest.

  He zeroed in on her lips. Would they taste as sweet as they looked?

  “Hope and Sinclair disqualified!” Judy blew the whistle again.

  “That’s it then.” Hope’s voice sounded hoarse as she pushed away from him. “We’re done.”

  At the sound of applause for the winning pair, Sinclair glanced at the finish line. Hope’s parents came in first place, followed by a bunch of kids and then Jake and Shannon, who fell across the line laughing.

  “I’m ready for a dip in the lake. How about you?” Hope bent to free their ankles.

  He raked his hand through his hair. “We better get the teams ready for softball first.”

  Hope grinned. “I’ll get the equipment from the back of your truck.”

  Instead of following Hope, Sinclair walked toward her parents to congratulate them. “Nice job on the win.”

  Teresa Petersen smiled. “Thank you, Sinclair. Did you race?”

  “He paired up with Hope, but they didn’t finish.” Her father had obviously seen them, but Sinclair couldn’t read the man’s reaction.

  Teresa Petersen’s smiled widened a little. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t tie the knot tight enough. Our ribbon fell off.”

  “Tying the knot is the key to success.” Teresa winked.

  Sinclair didn’t think she referenced the three-legged race. Her obvious hint at marriage triggered a twitch in the corner of his eye. Maybe he had an ally in Hope’s mom. “I’ll remember that.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  When he glanced at Hope’s father, his confidence weakened. If the irritated look Jim Petersen gave his wife was any indication, he wasn’t too happy with Teresa’s insinuation about tying the knot.

  But the picnic had worked. He’d made connections with his congregation by actions instead of words, and maybe the same had happened with the Petersens. He hoped so.

  Sinclair overheard Hope announce the lineup for softball. He’d concocted a sign-up sheet where folks could choose their team by picking their captain—Sinclair or Hope. He used to go to Hope’s softball games in high school. She’d been pretty good.

  He looked at Jim. “Are you going to play?”

  Hope’s dad shook his head. “I’m sitting this one out. I twisted my knee in the three-legged race. You go ahead, Teresa.”

  “Not without you.” She draped her arm around her husband. “Thanks for inviting us, Sinclair.”

  “You’re always welcome. It’s your church.”

  “It’s your church now. And it looks like you’re doing well by it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Petersen. I appreciate that.” Sinclair could have shouted for joy.

  And then he glanced at Jim. Hope’s father gave him a grudgingly short nod, but it was better than nothing.

  “Come on, we’re starting!” Hope waved him on.

  “Gotta run.” Sinclair took off to join the fun.

  Half an hour later, he stood ready to bat with no one on base. So far his team had no runs and Hope’s had two. Shannon pitched. She’d been lobbing in balls that begged to be hit far and deep. Hope played second base, and when he glanced her way, she gave him a cheeky grin.

  He hit the ball hard into left field. Running as fast as he could, he rounded first base, but Hope was bouncing at second, yelling for the shortstop to throw it to her.

  The shortstop bobbled it, so Sinclair kept going toward third. He glanced to his side, and Hope ran right next to him. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re not going to make it,” she taunted.

  The shortstop threw the ball to Jake at third. Just like Hope said, Sinclair wasn’t going to make it. He skidded to a halt and then twisted and headed back to second. The shortstop was already there, covering the base. He was stuck between bases with Hope looking to tag him out.

  “No way can you keep up with me,” he said.

  Her eyes gleamed. “Try me.”

  He made a dash for second, hoping Jake would overthrow the ball. But Jake tossed it to Hope, and she chased him down and slapped her mitt against his belly.

  “Out!” Hope yelled.

  “Show-off,” he muttered, breathing hard. “You’re not supposed to steal the shortstop’s thunder, you know.”

  “I knew I could catch you.” She laughed and pinched his side. “You’re so out of shape.”

  Sinclair sputtered. “Oh, yeah, Miss Fancy-Glove. How ’bout you put your running prowess to a little race?”

  “Against you?” Hope raised her eyebrows. “How about after the game?”

  Still trying to catch his breath, Sinclair nodded. He remembered that she was a runner now and suddenly wished she hadn’t risen to the challenge. He wasn’t sure he could beat her. “Maybe. After the game.”

  “Okay, you two—let’s get back to work.” Shannon caught the ball from Hope. “We have a game to win here.”

  They played on. Sinclair’s team scored a couple runs, but Hope’s team remained ahead by one. But then Sinclair easily caught Hope’s infield pop fly ball for the inning’s last out.

  Up to bat again, he popped up between right and center field. The outfielder played too deep, so Hope ran backward in an attempt to catch the ball, but somehow she slipped. And with a squeal, she fell. Hard.

  His heart
stopped when she didn’t move.

  Sinclair raced toward her, his pulse pumping loud enough to echo through his brain. “Hope?”

  The shortstop thundered close, and Judy rushed forward from right field. But Sinclair was already there, kneeling next to her. Too scared to touch her, too scared to move her, he peered into her face. “Hope?”

  Sinclair heard more people running toward them, but he concentrated on Hope lying flat on the ground with her eyes closed. “Can you hear me?”

  She held up one hand gesturing him to wait, and clutched her neck with the other as she gulped for air. “I’m o-okay.”

  His head spun with relief as she caught her breath and managed a strangled laugh. He reached behind her shoulders and helped her sit up.

  “Knocked the wind right out of me,” she croaked.

  He pushed back her damp, dark hair with shaking fingers. Her face glistened with perspiration. He gazed into her mirth-filled eyes. “You’re all right.”

  She nodded.

  How many times had he dragged her into something where she’d ended up getting hurt? He traced the tiny scar on her upper lip with his fingertip. He’d caught all kinds of flack from her folks for that stunt. Hope had, too.

  She leaned against his shoulder. “Are you okay? You look funny.”

  He felt funny, too. Cupping her cheek, he smiled.“I’m fine. Now.”

  But he wasn’t okay. It hit him like a shovel to the back of his head, stealing his sense of time and place. Their past and future blurred together as it sank in that he might be falling for his best friend.

  Yeah, he was falling all right. Hard.

  “Back off and let her breathe!” Jim Petersen’s voice boomed in his ear as the man’s rough hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  Sinclair moved back on his haunches, but not before catching sight of Hope’s parents’ worried expressions. Their faces had gone pale with fear. Were they thinking of the daughter they’d lost? Sinclair knew the answer to that when he looked into Jim’s eyes, filled with accusation and blame.

  “I’m okay, Dad. I’m fine.” Hope’s voice sounded irritated by all the fuss.

  Sinclair’s stomach turned sour with bitter regret, and like a rewound film, the wide-awake nightmare of the tractor accident flashed before him. Ryan had barked those same words to back off and let her breathe. Back then, leaning over Sara Petersen’s crushed body, Sinclair had known she wasn’t going to breathe much longer.

  Hope accepted her father’s hand and bounced to her feet.

  Sinclair backed away, his thoughts racing. He stood straight enough, but his insides wobbled and pitched as he watched the Petersens coddle their daughter. Judy Graves pushed a bottle of water into Hope’s hands.

  “Really, I’m fine.” Hope waved them all away. Her gaze held his, and he read the apology there.

  Who’d he think he was, anyway? Her folks hadn’t forgiven him for Sara’s death, and even if one day they did, he’d remain a constant reminder of their loss. Even though they put on a good face by coming to the picnic, it was clear they’d never accept him as the man for Hope.

  * * *

  Cleanup was a cinch. Hope dumped what little remained of the lemonade and gathered up leftover paper products into a basket. Everyone had already put away their potluck items in anticipation of the fireworks. Blankets and lawn chairs littered the ground as people lounged all over the park, waiting. Traffic would turn into a mad dash once the show was over.

  The sun had long since set, cooling the heavy air somewhat. She tossed the basket in the back of her car and grabbed a thin cotton sweater. She felt sticky, and despite the warm evening, her arms were riddled with goose bumps.

  Hope had definitely picked up some of her chill from Sinclair. He’d kept his distance since the end of the softball game. After her dad’s reaction, she couldn’t say that she blamed him.

  She spotted Sinclair loading the gas grill into the back of a pickup with Jake’s help. Sinclair had borrowed his sister’s truck for the picnic. After loading in the cooler, he sat down on the opened tailgate and let his bare feet swing.

  She should talk to him. When he cracked open a can of pop, she wandered over.

  “Thanks for your help.” Sinclair shook Jake’s hand.

  Jake looked at Hope and nodded. “No problem. See you around.”

  Hope wasn’t sure what to make of the scene surrounding her fall on the ball field, but she’d never forget the fear in Sinclair’s voice or the terror in his eyes. The horror on the faces of her parents, though, was what gnawed at her most, making her feel like she had to explain. But how?

  “Hey.” She leaned against the tailgate of the truck.

  “Hey, yourself.” He lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Those lines were etched a little deeper at the corners of his eyes, and his nose looked sunburned.

  “Guess we never got around to that swim.” She smiled.

  “Nope.”

  “We never got around to that race, either.”

  “Nope.” He looked at her. “I’m not sure I would have beaten you.”

  “Really?” She made a face. “Now I know you’re not the same old Sinclair.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’d never concede a loss. Even if I won fair and square, you’d have had an excuse.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose so.”

  “Thanks for coming to the rescue back there.”

  His smile looked grim. “You scared a few years off my life.”

  “Sorry.” Is this how it’d be? Everyone freaking out because of a little tumble?

  “Hope—” His cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, Sinclair’s brows furrowed. “I have to take this.”

  “Should I leave?”

  He shook his head, so she stayed and listened to his clipped responses to bad news. When he finished the call, he sat very still and looked stunned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My cousin, the one stationed in Afghanistan, has been hurt pretty bad. A roadside bomb, and they don’t know—” His voice cracked.

  Hope touched his arm. “What can I do?”

  “Pray.” He hopped off the tailgate. “My parents are going with my aunt and uncle to a hospital in Germany. He’ll be transported there. My mom wants me to drive them to the airport. I don’t know how they did it, but they managed to get on a red-eye flight going out after midnight.”

  Hope cupped his cheek. “Be careful.”

  He covered her hand with his and kissed her palm. “Hope, I wish...” His gaze searched hers, but then he shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

  Hope backed away as he slammed the tailgate shut and dashed for the driver’s seat. What did he wish for? The same things as her?

  Please, Lord, let it be so.

  She remembered Sinclair’s cousin. He was older by a few years, and both the Marsh boys had idolized him when they were teens. Sinclair’s uncle Larry and aunt Jamee must be beside themselves with worry.

  And she felt guilty for her lovesick petition.

  Just then, the first firework launched with a deep-sounding whoosh. Her heart heavy, Hope looked into the sky as it exploded into hundreds of glittering sparks overhead.

  Was that how a roadside bomb sounded when it exploded? She rubbed her arms, feeling even more chilled than before.

  Please God, not another loss.

  Chapter Nine

  On Thursday evening, Hope milled around the church parking lot with Shannon as parents dropped off their teenagers for the trip to Traverse City.

  “Is Sinclair still planning to come?” Shannon bounced her eighteen-month-old baby girl on her hip. Her little one would be confined to a stroller most of the evening at the Cherry Festival.

  “He said he�
��d be here.” Hope scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of Sinclair’s red Camaro. “He’s usually late.”

  Sinclair had left a note by her computer that he’d help chaperone, but it’d been three days since she’d last seen him at the church picnic. She’d spoken to him briefly on the phone a couple times, because he’d called out for the week. With his parents in Germany, his sister needed his help to bring in their cherry harvest.

  The office had loomed empty without him. She missed chatting with him over coffee and listening to him play the piano upstairs in the sanctuary. Even Dorrie’s girls missed him. They showed up yesterday looking to make more pictures with Sinclair for his school in Haiti.

  Hope knew from the sticky notes found every morning on her computer that Sinclair had come into the church office late at night. Harvesttime meant long days, but he still managed to email a sermon outline for her to include in Sunday’s bulletin.

  The first week of July was typically slow at Three Corner Community Church. Because of vacations, Wednesday night services and meetings were usually canceled, and this week was no exception. Hope used the quiet time to update the spreadsheet comparing the youth center costs with the preschool. She was more than ready for the following week’s building committee meeting.

  “He better get here soon—the kids are antsy.” Shannon shifted her daughter and checked her cell phone for messages.

  So far, they’d been waiting around for roughly fifteen minutes. Earlier, Jake had prepped the church’s bright yellow bus for the half-hour drive south. The tank was full and the interior swept clean. They were ready to roll, as soon as Sinclair joined them.

  Laughter caught her attention. Jake entertained their group by juggling three small beanbag balls. Nobody looked antsy to her. Not yet, anyway.

  “Good. There he is.” Shannon pointed.

  Hope spotted Sinclair’s car coming down the road at lightning speed. He quickly turned into the parking lot with a squeal of tires that made everyone stop and stare. She shook her head. Some things about Sinclair hadn’t changed. Maybe they never would.

  The erratic beating of her pulse made Hope think some things hadn’t changed much about her, either. Her stomach took a dive when he trotted toward them. Without his glasses, dressed in shorts and a golf shirt, Sinclair looked young and carefree. His skin gleamed with a suntan from working outside all week, and his slicked-back hair was still damp from the shower.