Courting Hope Page 18

  Hannah’s eyes fluttered open at one point and filled with tears. “Miss Hope?”

  Hope leaned closer to hear through the oxygen mask covering the little girl’s mouth. “I’m here.”

  “Mom’s going to be mad.”

  She laughed, giddy with relief that Hannah was coherent. There was no way that Dorrie gave her nine-year-old daughter permission to mow the lawn. Hannah would no doubt earn a lecture after this was all over. Her mother had to be insane with worry right now.

  The little girl’s eyes closed again as whatever the paramedics gave her kicked in and put her back under. Hope glanced at Hannah’s leg, now bundled with a special splint. The blood-soaked yellow material of Hope’s torn skirt dangled through one of the straps.

  This should never have happened.

  When they finally reached the E.R., Hope gave the nurse the information she knew. Pacing the waiting room, Hope looked up when Dorrie charged in with Grace cradled on her hip only ten minutes later.

  “Where is she? Where’s my baby?”

  “They’re looking at her now.” Hope took the weeping Grace as the nurse escorted Dorrie into the examining room.

  “We wanted to surprise my mom.” Grace hiccupped on a sob and then cried harder.

  “I know.” Hope stroked the little girl’s back. Good intentions with horrible consequences. And no news. What were the doctors telling Dorrie?

  Hope sat down in the overly air-conditioned waiting room and settled Grace more comfortably on her lap. She wasn’t a big kid, and Hope cradled her like a toddler. As soon as she leaned back against the chair, Hope’s muscles went limp, as if she’d finished running a marathon. Her head ached with worry. Would Hannah lose that foot? She’d never forget that horrific injury, with all that blood on the ground. Closing her eyes didn’t help—the image came back all over again.

  Hope heard the swish of the automatic doors. Sinclair rushed toward her with a concern-filled face, and something inside her broke loose. This never would have happened if they’d had the summer program in place. If only she had pushed harder before her previous minister retired.

  He slipped into a chair next to her. “Any news?”

  “Not yet. Dorrie’s in with the doctor.” Hope shook her head.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Hope nodded, but she couldn’t keep bitterness from climbing into her voice. “With the preschool’s summer program, they wouldn’t have been alone.”

  “Hope—”

  “Remember these girls’ faces when you talk to the board. When you see Chuck.”

  This wasn’t Sinclair’s fault. If he felt a little of her frustration, maybe then he’d understand how desperately families like Dorrie’s needed a safe place for their kids during the summer months. Maybe he’d fight harder for it. Maybe he’d talk to Chuck about his pledge.

  Sinclair stood up when Dorrie came into the waiting room. Her face was pale, her cheeks wet with tears. “They need to operate. Her Achilles tendon was cut pretty bad, and they don’t know—”

  Hope watched Dorrie collapse against Sinclair and bawl. He held her, and then did what any good pastor would do. Sinclair gathered the four of them close and prayed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hope shut off the car’s engine and leaned her forehead on the steering wheel. Tears dripped onto her bare knees. It was late. Too late to say she was sorry. Too late for an apology. It wouldn’t matter because Sinclair would never forgive her.

  How could he when she’d alienated the church’s largest financial donor? Chuck hadn’t taken her request very well. Not well at all.

  Her head pounded, but the rest of her felt numb. She’d been so sure of herself after Hannah’s surgery. After Hope had left the hospital, she headed straight for the Stillwells’ place. She’d be so sure that once Chuck heard the circumstances behind the project’s accounting error, once he heard what had happened to Dorrie’s daughter, then he’d want to match the transposed pledge, and they could move forward as planned.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Hope closed her eyes, but that sick, hollow feeling in her stomach remained. Now who was the impulsive one who acted first and thought later?

  A sudden knock on the passenger-side window startled her. She straightened and spotted her dad’s worried face through the glass.

  Hope flipped the unlock switch.

  Her dad slipped into the seat next to her. “Everything okay with Dorrie’s kid?”

  She nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. The doctor had said the surgery had been successful and he believed Hannah would recover fully, but it would take time and physical therapy.

  “She’ll be okay,” Hope managed to choke out.

  Her father grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You did a good job rushing to help that little girl. She needed you, and you were there. Sara would be proud.”

  More tears leaked out. Her dad thought this was about Sara’s death. In a way, maybe it was. She hadn’t been there for her sister when it mattered most.

  Hope had let so many opportunities to make a difference slip by. Afraid to speak out or step up. Tonight she’d finally taken a stand and blew everything to bits.

  “I ruined everything.” Her voice came out scratchy and raw.

  “How did you do that?”

  Hope shook her head.

  “What happened tonight? Did you fight with Sinclair?” Her dad’s voice had an edge to it.

  If only it were that simple. “No.”

  “He called for you over an hour ago when he couldn’t get through on your cell. We didn’t know where you were.”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” She’d turned her phone off before she’d gone to Stillwell Farms.

  After Dorrie was settled into her daughter’s hospital room with a sleepy Grace, Hope and Sinclair had made the half-hour trip home in silence. She’d asked him to drop her off at her car, which she’d left in the church parking lot, instead of driving her straight home, and he’d done that without question.

  “Come in the house. Your mother’s worried sick.” Her father got out of the car and waited for her to do the same.

  Hope’s rubbery legs barely supported her, but her dad was right there, helping her make it up the porch steps. Deep lines of concern etched into the sides of his mouth, but thankfully he didn’t ask again what she’d done that was so terrible.

  She didn’t want to tell him.

  Not until she told Sinclair.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Not tonight, though. What she’d done required a face-to-face confession. She’d tell him in the morning.

  “Oh, honey.” Her mom met them at the door and wrapped her arms around Hope.

  Exhaustion from the emotional day took over, and Hope sobbed. Crying for everything she’d lost—her sister, her preschool and her future with Sinclair.

  * * *

  The next morning, Chuck Stillwell’s barely contained annoyance filled Sinclair’s small office. The guy wouldn’t sit down, so Sinclair remained standing, too. “You wanted to meet first thing, so what’s up?”

  Chuck snorted. “Like you don’t know.”

  “Humor me,” Sinclair said through clenched teeth. He was in no mood to play guessing games.

  “I don’t appreciate my pastor sending his girlfriend to beg for money.”

  Sinclair tilted his head. “How’s that?”

  “Hope stopped by the farm last night, pleading your case for the preschool.”

  So that’s where she’d gone. He thought the little girl’s accident had stirred up painful memories about Sara’s death. Hope had been distant on the ride home from the hospital, but Sinclair had thought she’d wanted space to grieve. So he’d dropped her off at her car like she’d asked and left her alone. Bad mo
ve on his part.

  “Did she ask you to cover the transposed pledge?” It didn’t sit well, but he had to know.

  Obviously Hope didn’t trust him enough, or she didn’t trust God enough to see this thing through. He didn’t know which was worse.

  “In a matter of speaking, yes, she did. And I won’t support a pastor who can’t do his own dirty work. You got me?”

  Sinclair flared his nostrils at the insult and the threat. “Do what you have to, Chuck. I’d never send Hope to you for money or anything else, but I won’t apologize for her. She was broken up over the Cavanaugh girl’s accident and did what she thought was right at the time.”

  “That’s convenient. I suppose I have to believe that.”

  Sinclair leaned forward, wanting to cuff the guy, but he kept his fists firmly planted on the desktop and stared Chuck down instead. “Believe whatever makes you happy. While you’re at it, find another church that’ll make you happy. This preschool belongs to God, and He’ll provide what we need with or without you.”

  Chuck’s face registered surprise, and then a dash of respect crept in.

  He’d called the guy’s bluff without losing his temper, but Sinclair’s satisfaction in finally putting Chuck Stillwell in his place was short-lived. He spotted Hope’s father entering the main office like a hurricane about to make landfall. Jim Petersen looked more than a little upset.

  “Excuse me.” Sinclair’s insides churned.

  “We’re not done here,” Chuck warned.

  “Yeah, we are.” Sinclair left the guy sputtering behind him and rushed toward Hope’s dad. “Mr. Petersen, is something wrong?”

  Jim’s eyes had an intimidating edge to them. No taller than Sinclair, Hope’s father was broad enough to take anyone down a peg or two. And he looked mad enough to throw his weight around. “I was hoping you could tell me why my daughter cried herself to sleep last night.”

  Balling his hands into fists, Sinclair turned in time to catch Chuck’s sheepish expression. “What did you say to her?”

  “Whoa—wait a minute, I’m not the one on trial here.”

  Sinclair took a deep breath in an attempt to cool his temper and keep from saying something he’d regret later. He ground out, “You are now.”

  Jim Petersen stepped between them. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  * * *

  Hope pumped gas into her car and stared at the gauges as they twirled from two to ten gallons. She could resign.

  Once she told Sinclair what she’d done, she might have to.

  Chuck Stillwell gave to the church regularly. His tithe checks collected in the offering plate every two weeks were huge. Without his financial support, cutbacks would have to be made. It only stood to reason that her salary would be one of them.

  She pursed her lips as the gas pump clicked off with a clunk. Tank full, but she ran on fumes. After a sleepless night, her heart twisted every time she thought about Sinclair’s reaction. This morning, she’d tell him what she’d done. She’d confess to going behind his back and doing exactly what he’d told her not to do. Even if he forgave her, would he ever trust her again?

  Probably not.

  She slammed the gas nozzle back into the pump’s holster and marched toward the convenience store to pay. There had to be a way to fix this—but she’d done enough damage.

  Inside the store, Hope’s attention was caught by the donut case. She could wallow with a custard-filled Long John and coffee on her way to the office. It would most likely be her last day.

  Perusing the tempting donuts, Hope nearly bumped into a woman. “Excuse me, I’m sorry.”

  “Miss Hope! Hola, good morning to you.” Bonita Sanchez smiled.

  “Hola.”

  “You sad, no?”

  Hope smiled. She was worse than sad. Resigned, deflated and sorrier than she’d ever been all fit the bill. “I’m tired, Bonita. I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Discúlpame. I so sorry. My kids glad for Sunday school. You teach?”

  Hope bit her lip. Maybe. If she still had a job, and Sinclair didn’t send her packing. “I think so.”

  “My kids wait in car. I see you Sunday.” Bonita smiled and hurried on her way.

  “Adiós.” Hope returned a smile she didn’t feel and then focused her attention back on scanning the pastries.

  She heard the tinkling sound of the bell on the store’s glass door as Bonita left. An idea whispered through Hope’s brain and warmed her heart.

  What if...

  Of course! Heart pumping, Hope dashed out of the convenience mart and spotted Bonita’s old clunker of a car. She rushed forward and tapped on the hood to get the woman’s attention. Her kids stuck their heads out of the lowered windows and waved, calling out her name.

  Hope waved and, nearly breathless, asked, “Who watches your children while you work at Stillwell Farms?”

  Bonita looked confused.

  Hope repeated the question more slowly, in Spanish.

  Bonita answered in Spanish, “One of the older girls, most times. But sometimes we ladies take turns staying behind from the field.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Hope backed away from her car and smiled.

  Was it possible to incorporate a bilingual class into the summer program? Could she make it work? Would it make a difference in Chuck’s decision?

  Would it make a difference to Sinclair? This time, she’d check with him before acting on impulse. Even if Sinclair didn’t forgive her for what she’d done, he’d recognize a good idea when he heard it. She owed him that much. It was worth a try.

  Hope quickly paid the cashier and then headed for the church, her self-pity donuts forgotten. She prayed the whole way that God might take her colossal bungle and turn it around. She prayed that Sinclair would give her another shot, once he heard her apology and her promise to be up front with him in the future.

  If they had one.

  If he loved her...

  Pulling into the church parking lot, Hope’s stomach tightened when she saw Sinclair’s Camaro parked beside a big white truck with the Stillwell Farms logo painted on its doors.

  She bit her bottom lip.

  She should have called him last night and saved him from getting blindsided this morning. Dread settled even deeper when she spotted Judy’s car in the parking lot. And why was her father’s pickup here, too?

  Hope got out of her car and squared her shoulders. She marched forward, prepared to face the consequences of her actions. But the closer she got to the office, the louder the unfamiliar sound of heated voices rang. With a hand to her belly to calm the turmoil there, Hope listened. She heard her name mentioned, but the rest remained unclear and muffled.

  They really were going to fire her!

  Her eyes stung and the back of her throat burned. It’s what she deserved. She opened the door and went inside, prepared for the worst.

  “You had no right to talk to Hope like that! She believed she owed you the truth.” Sinclair looked furious.

  Hope blinked. He was defending her?

  Tension hung in the air as four people stood in the middle of the church office arguing. No one had heard her come inside.

  “I thought you’d sent her!” Chuck’s arms were spread wide in surrender or defense. Hope couldn’t really tell, but there was a definite gleam in the man’s eye, like he enjoyed the ruckus.

  Her father rubbed his chin like he always did when gathering his thoughts. “Chuck, you know my daughter better than that. She wouldn’t ask for anything unless there was an urgent need.”

  “If you’d all sit down, maybe we could iron this out civilly.” Judy’s voice of reason sounded firm, but she was ignored as the three men chorused their grievances.

  Hope almost smiled at th
e scene before her. Almost.

  “Chuck has every right to be offended.” Hope spoke loudly enough to make her presence known.

  All heads turned toward her.

  “I was way out of line, and I’m sorry.”

  Sinclair’s expression was hard to read, but he stepped toward her. “Hope—”

  She held up her hand for him to wait. She needed to get this out, before he said the words that would break her heart. “I’m so sorry, Sinclair. I did what you told me not to do, and I hope you’ll forgive me for not trusting you. For rushing ahead like a fool.”

  She took another step into the office. “And, Chuck, I beg your pardon for asking you to cover my mistake. That was wrong, but—”

  She glanced at her father, who nodded for her to go on.

  “Yes?” Judy prodded to cover the heavy pause.

  And Sinclair smiled. He didn’t look mad at her at all. He gestured for her to take the floor and run with it without hesitation or interruption. He trusted her.

  Her courage bolstered by that small movement, Hope vowed she’d never again mess with his trust. Sinclair had grown into a man whose judgment she could rest in. Had she only listened to him, had she waited, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

  But God could fix this. He’d given her the idea.

  Swallowing hard, Hope continued, “I didn’t trust God to provide for the preschool, I see that now. I thought I could make this happen on my own, because I believe so strongly in the need. We need that preschool to provide a safe summer program, and we need it now. After Hannah’s accident, the urgency to fight for it took over, and I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.”

  She took a deep breath, but the four of them were looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. Maybe she’d finally said what they needed to hear. She’d always held back and waited for someone else to lead the charge. Well, maybe God wanted her to step up and lead for a change. She had the fire and vision for the preschool. Couldn’t she help spread it?