Courting Hope Page 2

He whirled around and smiled. “What?”

  It was a cruel joke that a guy nicknamed Sin had such a tempting smile. She’d always called him by his full name. Not only did she like it better, but she believed using his full name shielded her from the temptation to follow his antics into trouble.

  Sometimes it had worked. Sometimes it hadn’t.

  She pointed at his vehicle. “That car.”

  His smile only grew wider. “I’m not about an image.”

  Hope gave a snort and lifted one eyebrow.

  Who was he trying to kid? He reeked with the same reckless charm he’d always had. All show and no substance, like the ridiculously fast car he’d driven since high school.

  “That car will do you no good come winter, you know.” Hope sounded like somebody’s mother. No, worse, someone’s grandmother.

  Sinclair’s smile widened. “I know. I’ll figure it out.”

  He was good at doing that. He constantly lived with a no worries now, figure it out later mentality. She remembered a youth rally they’d attended, and Sinclair had confided in her that he’d been called to the ministry. He’d bragged to her that he’d pastor a church someday, but she’d laughed at the idea. Hope hadn’t believed he’d follow through. Yet here he was, her new pastor.

  He walked toward her. “I’m worried you might quit.”

  “I might.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Why?” Hope enjoyed watching him squirm for an answer.

  Then he looked at her with intense eyes and said, “Because I need you.”

  How many years had she dreamed of hearing those words come from him? Hope swallowed hard and looked away. Sinclair Marsh never needed anyone.

  “That bothers you.” His voice was laced with empathy.

  “You bother me.” Hope didn’t want his understanding. She didn’t want anything from him anymore.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice softened.

  Was that regret she read in his eyes? She quickly looked away again. “How ’bout you do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

  “Our jobs cross. We’re going to end up in the middle of that intersection quite a bit. What then?”

  He made a good point. How in the world were they going to go about their day-to-day duties without crashing into each other? “We’ll just have to deal with it.”

  His gaze softened further. “Hope—”

  She held her hand up to stop him from talking about Sara. “Don’t go there.”

  “We have to. Eventually.”

  “Maybe, but not today.” Hope turned and headed for the church office.

  * * *

  By the time Hope made it home later that afternoon, her emotions were all over the place. She felt rubbed raw. All afternoon she’d been aware of Sinclair’s presence. At the coffeemaker or the laser printer. The last straw had been hearing him on the piano upstairs in the sanctuary. The guy had played heart-wrenchingly beautiful music for a solid hour. By four o’clock, she couldn’t take it anymore and left work half an hour early.

  Sitting in the driveway, Hope hesitated before getting out of her car. Looking at the white farmhouse where she’d grown up and still called home at the ripe age of twenty-seven, Hope wondered how she’d break the news of their new minister to her folks.

  With a sigh, she got out and trudged toward the house. Her mother met her at the side door, letting out their black-and-white shepherd mix named Gypsy. “Judy called.”

  Hope cringed. Did they already know? “What did she want?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us the church hired Sinclair Marsh?”

  “Because I just found out today.”

  “Why didn’t they bring you in on the decision?”

  Hope let her head fall back. “I don’t know, Mom. I was on vacation. Besides, the board found interim pastors without my input, so I guess they didn’t need it. Can we talk about this later? I’m beat.”

  “Your father’s not happy.”

  Hope didn’t expect that he would be.

  “I think you should talk to him.” Her mom gave her a ghost of a smile.

  She didn’t feel encouraged. “Now?”

  “He’s in the barn.”

  Hope left her purse on the bench against the wall in the kitchen before she plodded back down the porch steps. They had a small farm with a whole lot of cattle for beef. An oddity, considering the surrounding fruit growers. Entering the barn, she spotted her father in his workshop with a blowtorch and soldering wire.

  She slipped into a nearby chair and waited. It didn’t take long for one of the barn cats to find its way onto her lap.

  When her dad finished mending the metal, he flipped up his safety glasses and looked at her. His eyes were red. Could be from the work, or something else?

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “You gonna quit?”

  “No.” She stroked the calico cat’s fur. How could she?

  “Don’t expect us to go there.” Her father slipped his glasses back in place. Conversation over.

  Hope watched her father finish fixing whatever it was for one of the tractor engines. He had kept the tractor that had crushed Sara. Her father’s rationale had been that it wasn’t the tractor’s fault it flipped.

  True. It was Sinclair’s. And Hope’s for not being there to stop her sister from doing something so stupid.

  Hope often wondered if it would have been easier on her dad if she had been the one under that tractor. Sara had been his kindred spirit—the one who wanted to take over the farm someday. Sara had been the one who knew how to help. Her little sister didn’t need to be told what needed to be done or shown how to do it. Sara just knew.

  Hope didn’t know. She’d tried, but she couldn’t fill the empty void Sara left behind.

  “Put those in the box over there, would you?” Her father handed her his safety glasses.

  Hope gently shooed the cat down and brushed off her skirt. She laid the glasses alongside a few other pairs and closed the lid, careful to keep the edge of her skirt from brushing the greasy side of the workbench.

  “You should have changed your clothes before coming out here.”

  Hope shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “Your mother sent you, didn’t she?”

  Hope nodded.

  “We were finally getting some distance.” Her father’s face looked worn.

  “I know.” Her heart tore in two. They may have accepted Sara’s death, but Sinclair’s return reopened the wound and made it feel fresh and sore, like a torn scab.

  “Let’s see what your mother has cooked up, huh?”

  Hope followed her father out of his workshop. The dog flew past them, barking the whole way, toward a candy-apple-red Camaro that pulled into the driveway.

  Sinclair.

  “What’s he want?” her father growled.

  “I’ll send him on his way.” She glanced into her father’s metal-gray eyes, which looked hard as steel.

  Her father slowed her down with a touch of his hand. “Wait. I want to hear what he’s come to say.”

  Hope focused on Sinclair as he made his way toward them up the long gravel drive. What did he think he was doing here? The dog trotted alongside him with her tail wagging. Gypsy had always loved Sinclair. Everyone had loved Sinclair.

  Once upon a time, Hope had, too.

  “Gypsy, come!” She grabbed the dog’s collar and put her in the house.

  “Who’s here?” Her mother stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  “Sinclair Marsh,” Hope answered, then watched her mother’s expression change to tense concern.

  When Sinclair stopped near the porch, the air turned thick and heavy with emotion. There were things that had never been said
. Forgiveness that was never granted.

  Hope would never forget that day she’d returned from shopping to the horrible scene enfolding in the living room. The police had asked Ryan questions while her father had tried to console her mother. Sinclair had stood alone, looking pale and guilty.

  This wasn’t going to go well.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Petersen. I didn’t call first, because I figured I should say this in person.” Sinclair looked directly at her father.

  “Say what?” her father asked with impatience.

  Her mother stepped down to stand next to her husband in the driveway. They’d always thought Sinclair irresponsible. They used to tell her he was a young man they couldn’t trust. Seeing them standing so stiff, the two reminded Hope of a stone wall. Like a permanent fixture of the landscape, her parents were bound to be hard to move.

  Hope stayed on the porch and watched and waited.

  “I wanted to let you know that I’m the new pastor at Three Corner Community Church.”

  “We heard.”

  “And...I’m sorry.” Sinclair didn’t waver in his stance. He met her parents’ stone-cold stares without flinching.

  “Three years and you’re sorry.” Her father’s voice was low with sarcasm and hurt.

  Hope noticed the skin on Sinclair’s neck flush red. This wasn’t easy for him, either.

  “I can’t change what happened or my part in it. But I wanted you both to know—” he glanced at her “—the three of you to know, that I’m done running from it.”

  Hope watched her father. He looked like a tractor that had been worked too hard and might blow a gasket. And yet Sinclair hadn’t looked away. He faced them with an honest humility she’d never seen in him before. There was no sense of challenge in him, no cockiness.

  “That’s what you’ve come to say?”

  Sinclair gave a quick nod. “That’s it.”

  “Okay then, you’ve said it.” Her father stuffed his hands in his pockets. Conversation over.

  Only Sinclair didn’t take the cue right away. He looked like he might say something else but thought better of it. With a tight upper lip, he gave her mother another stiff nod. “Good night, then.”

  The three of them watched in silence as Sinclair walked down the drive, got back into his car and pulled out.

  Hope released the breath she’d been holding. Not nearly as bad as she’d thought.

  “Hope, if you were smart, you’d rethink working there.” Her father stomped up the stairs and entered the house.

  Hope didn’t move. She didn’t speak, either. She might say something she’d regret. It didn’t matter that she’d felt the same way today; she was tired of orders and expectations.

  She was too old to still live at home, but how could she leave her folks? Her father refused to talk about what had happened, and her mom did her best to keep things even-keeled. And Hope got lost in the mix of trying to please them.

  Glancing at the dozen flowerpots she’d helped her mother fill with red geraniums, Hope opened the screen door and went inside. The door closed with a snap behind her.

  Her mom caressed her shoulder and smiled. “Give him time, Hope.”

  Time? They’d been doing this agonizing dance for too long. She silently followed her mother to the kitchen sink to wash her hands for dinner. No matter how much it might hurt her parents, Hope wasn’t about to quit. Not when the preschool hung in the balance. She’d walked away from so much in her short life, she couldn’t walk away from that. Not without a fight.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Sinclair rushed through the office entrance. He had a box of his sister’s cherry almond scones ready for a peace offering. He glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced. Nine-thirty. He’d wanted to make it in by nine.

  Hope stood near the coffeemaker, looking pretty in a filmy blue top over a white skirt that kissed her knees. The girl he remembered wore shapeless clothes that hid everything. Part of him wished for the old Hope who didn’t have this power to distract him.

  He stepped forward, but kept his voice soft. “Morning, Hope.”

  She finished stirring creamer into her coffee before turning to glare at him. “How could you do that?”

  He didn’t bother with the pretense of asking what she meant. He knew. “I had to face them.”

  “Did you really? On your first day? You couldn’t let Judy’s news sink in a little and give them a chance to process it?”

  “They deserved to hear it from me.”

  “So you go on a search-and-destroy mission to make the Petersens bleed all over again?”

  He set the box of scones on her desk. Did he get it all wrong? He’d prayed so hard before making the decision to go to Hope’s house. He’d wanted to clear the air and offer his remorse. Show them that he meant business and was serious about his calling. Looked like he’d botched it. “I’m sorry.”

  She made a rude sound. She’d always been able to make him feel like an idiot.

  “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

  Her shoulders drooped and all the fight blew out of her as quickly as it had raged. “I wish I knew what that was.”

  He stepped forward to touch her shoulder, but he let his hand drop to his side instead. He’d lost the right to offer her comfort when he’d lost her as a friend. When Sara had died.

  “They want me to quit.”

  “Your parents?” Of course that’s who she was talking about.

  She nodded but wouldn’t look at him.

  He’d seen a glimmer of softening in Teresa Petersen’s eyes last night. There was hope for forgiveness yet. But he couldn’t rush. That had always been his problem. He rushed too much.

  “You still do everything your parents want you to?” He didn’t mean to lower his voice, but his challenge came across pretty clear if the scowl on Hope’s face was any indication.

  She still toed the family line. Always responsible, Hope had a servant’s heart that could be taken advantage of. Sinclair regretted that he’d been on the using end far too many times in the past. He remembered calling on Hope for a ride home after he’d partied too hard on summer break. He’d even asked her to pick out Christmas gifts for his mom and sister a couple years in a row. And she’d done what he’d asked because she was a giver instead of a taker like him.

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “Who do you think you are?”

  The blue of her top made her eyes an icy gray color that looked translucent. Protective and fierce. Sinclair couldn’t look away.

  The phone rang, interrupting the moment, but he ignored it. He remained focused on her. “I’ve known you longer than I haven’t.”

  “You don’t know anything.” She reached for the phone. “Three Corner Community Church, how may I help you?”

  He watched the graceful way she cradled the receiver between her chin and shoulder while she grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. He didn’t know this new Hope who appeared completely in charge. The urge to get to know her on a very personal level took him by surprise. He didn’t want this attraction to Hope. It complicated everything—but what could he do?

  “Yeah, he’s right here.” Hope caught him staring and her cheeks colored. “It’s Judy. She’s headed out of town for a couple of days and wants to know if you need anything before she goes. You can take it in your office.”

  “Here’s fine.” He sat on the edge of her desk and reached for the phone.

  Hope gave him a pointed look. She wasn’t handing over the call until he moved off of her desk.

  Without looking away, he slipped from the edge and accepted the phone. “Hey, Judy...”

  Hope peeked inside the box of scones and smiled. Finally, a glimpse of his old Hope.

  Reassuring Judy that he’d get the budget and bui
lding plans, he cut the conversation short. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. Have a safe trip.”

  He leaned forward, catching a whiff of Hope’s flowery perfume as he hung up. “I know you like scones.”

  Hope looked annoyed. Obviously pointing out her weakness for baked goods hadn’t scored him any points. She grabbed a scone and then pushed the box toward him.

  “They’re from my sister.”

  “How is Eva?” Hope took a bite.

  “Engaged.”

  Hope headed for the coffee station and grabbed a napkin. “Good for her. I didn’t see anything in the paper.”

  “It’s pretty recent. She’s marrying the guy who bought the orchard.” Sinclair followed her and helped himself to coffee.

  “I’d heard that your parents sold and moved. How are they?”

  “Here for the summer to help bring in what’s left of the harvest.” He’d returned home after severe thunderstorms had ripped through area orchards. His sister was determined to salvage a decent crop, and he’d do what he could to help.

  Hope nodded. “They must be glad you’re home.”

  “Yeah.” He bit into a scone, but the flavor was lost when he thought of his brother’s cold reception. His family had eagerly welcomed him, but not Ryan. More amends to be made. Sara Petersen had been Ryan’s fiancée.

  “Well, thank you for these.” Hope settled into her office chair with a look that said she was determined to get back to work.

  Sinclair didn’t want their conversation to end. He used to pour his heart out to her when they were kids. Breakups with girlfriends, trouble with his father, dreams about his future. He used to tell Hope everything. Back then, she’d been more than a sympathetic listener. More times than not, she’d tell him flat out that he was wrong and make him see the other side. She gave him balance.

  He didn’t feel too balanced around her today. Giving her his best pleading look, he asked, “Does this mean you’re not going to quit?”

  * * *

  Hope stared into Sinclair’s eyes and didn’t answer right away. She liked holding her employment future over his head. Even though she’d never quit, she wanted to punish him. As if it’d matter.