Courting Hope Page 8

  “Hope—” His voice cracked as he walked toward her.

  She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  His shoulders shook, but he held on tight to the lifeline she offered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too. Please forgive me.”

  “Aww, Hope. What for?”

  “For blaming you.”

  He lost it then.

  And Hope squeezed him tighter. She buried her head into Sinclair’s neck and sobbed right along with him. She envisioned her guilt and bitter regret flowing out of her in the form of tears. And she finally believed what she’d told Sinclair. She’d let go of the grudge she’d firmly held on to.

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Sara was a smart girl who did something stupid. Driving that tractor uphill had been her choice. Like Rose Marsh said, face it and move on.

  She didn’t know how long they stood there crying, but neither one of them let go. Sinclair’s arms around her made her feel safe, like the strong ties of docking rope that gave a ship stability in a storm. She’d cried all over his shirt, leaving behind smeared mascara, but she didn’t care. He didn’t seem to, either.

  Finally, she shifted in order to rest her chin on his shoulder. He smelled good, like spicy soap and cotton sheets dried outside on a clothesline.

  He loosened his hold but didn’t let go.

  Hope closed her eyes. She didn’t care if they stood there all night. Sinclair made lazy circles on her back with his fingertips. He lulled her into a sweet place where everything was okay. A place with no past or future, only now.

  The party blared in the background. She could hear laughter and music, but both were muffled by Sinclair’s warm shoulder, solid beneath her cheek. Standing in the dark shadows of the pole barn, they were pretty much out of sight from the tents. Then the band played a slow song she remembered from high school dances.

  She’d always lingered on the bleachers, wishing...

  “Dance with me.” His lips brushed her temple.

  A shiver raced down her spine. They stood too close to really dance, so they swayed, moving slow. When she felt Sinclair’s hands slide toward her hips, Hope swallowed sudden panic. This wasn’t about comfort anymore.

  She pulled back a little and searched his face.

  He gave her a hint of a smile and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

  Hope pulled farther away. “No...”

  “You are, Hope, inside and out.”

  Her head pounded with the sound of trains running at full speed through her brain. For years she’d wished he’d look at her like this. She’d wanted him to hold her, too. She’d buried her feelings for him so deep and yet, with one word, one touch, he’d called them forth. And just like Pandora’s box, he’d opened the lid to her heart, and she feared she might not be able to stuff those feelings back where they belonged.

  She looked anywhere but at him. “Please don’t.”

  * * *

  Sinclair watched the changes of expressions dance across Hope’s pretty face. It might be dark, but he recognized fear when he saw it. Hope was afraid of him.

  He let his hands drop to his sides. Had he messed up again? “Hope, I mean it—”

  “It’s getting late.” She cut him off. “I better go.”

  She backed up while patting the pockets of her slip of a dress. That flirty little dress had teased him ever since he’d spotted her.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “My keys.” Her voice sounded frantic.

  “Check your front seat.” She’d always left them in her car. He used to tease her about that, calling her a country bumpkin who’d never make it in the city.

  Her brow cleared. “You’re right. I put them under the floor mat.”

  He tipped his head when she frowned again. “You okay?”

  That earned him a look of pure irritation. “I’m fine. I’ve got to get home and check on the dog. Tell your mom thanks for me, would you? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sinclair watched her book it down the driveway as if there were wild dogs nipping at her heels. Not once did she look back.

  Sinclair stepped out of the shadows, but he kept his gaze fixed on her until she started her car and drove away.

  “Everything all right?” His mother appeared from out of nowhere and stood next to him.

  “Fine, why?”

  “You and Hope were gone awhile. Now she’s leaving in a rush.”

  They stood in a pool of light cast by the open doors of the pole barn. Crickets chirped, and their sound rang out over the background party noise.

  Sinclair shrugged. “She had to go home. She wanted me to tell you thanks and good night.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” He hadn’t acted on impulse this time. Well, not fully. He’d held back when he didn’t want to. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone like he’d wanted to kiss Hope tonight, but that wild look in her eyes had stopped him cold. Was she worried about her folks? Or afraid of getting involved with him? What had spooked her?

  Surely she cared for him, even if just a little bit. She’d felt so right in his arms. Perfect.

  “You’ve got makeup on your shirt.” His mom flicked an accusing finger against his collar.

  “Ah, yeah, I do. I guess I better change it.” He gave her a broad smile and then walked toward the house.

  There were some things a man didn’t admit to his mother despite her questioning looks. Caring deeply for Hope Petersen was one of them.

  * * *

  Hope made it to church in time for worship. Slipping into her regular pew, she set down her purse and tried to focus on the song. She’d had a rough night chasing what-ifs and why-nots until finally falling asleep sometime in the wee hours of morning. She’d promised herself that heartbreak wasn’t an option this time.

  This time...

  Could she handle another this time?

  Throughout the song service, Hope watched Sinclair. She stared hard at the back of his head, wishing she could uncover his thoughts. She’d never forget the look in his eyes or how it felt to be held by him. Like something out of a long forgotten dream.

  She shut her eyes tight and tried to concentrate on the words of the song. She prayed for God’s comfort. Could He quiet the raging of her heart?

  Was Sinclair distracted this morning?

  Why, God? Why indeed. Why had He brought Sinclair home to this church?

  Last night she’d experienced a huge step in healing from Sara’s accident. But that wasn’t all it was. Could there be more? Could she finally have something real that might last with Sinclair?

  At greeting time, Hope popped up to take the kids downstairs for children’s church. She sidestepped, hoping for a quick exit, but there was Sinclair at the end of the pew talking to Mrs. Larson, and she was grilling him about scheduling a potluck.

  Their gazes met and held.

  Her stomach turned over.

  “Morning, Hope.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Pastor.” It felt awkward saying it, but she needed the distance of his title and the protection it gave her.

  Mrs. Larson looked from Sinclair to her and then back to Sinclair again. Her perfectly penciled eyebrows lifted.

  Hope felt her cheeks blaze. “Excuse me.”

  Thank God, Sinclair stepped out of her way and didn’t try to talk to her. Mrs. Larson made too interested an audience.

  Hope corralled the youngsters, including the Cavanaugh girls, and led them toward the back of the church. Hannah liked helping with the younger kids, and Hope appreciated the assistance.

  Walking down the aisle with as much dignity as she could muster, it took every ounce of wil
lpower not to turn around and seek out a pair of hazel eyes. Was he watching her?

  She moved forward, urging the kids to be quiet, but they sounded like a herd of elephants charging down the stairs to the lower level.

  Downstairs, reality hit. The multipurpose room used for potluck dinners, meetings and children’s church looked small and shabby. She scanned the offices that had been sectioned off with a windowed wall and locking door for privacy. The church kitchen lay to her right, and restrooms were on the left.

  She couldn’t risk losing the preschool or her part in it by getting involved with her minister. What if whatever was simmering between her and Sinclair didn’t last? What if these leftover feelings for him weren’t real?

  The need for an addition, however, was real. Not only for Sundays, but in order to grow the church. Growth lay in what they offered families, which meant what they could do for their children. A youth center wouldn’t pay for a summer program or lay a foundation of Christian learning like the preschool. Get that right, and the potential was limitless.

  “Miss Hope?” A six-year-old boy tugged her hand.

  “Yes, Keith?”

  “Whadda you looking at?”

  “The future.”

  He cocked his head and looked at the office wall where she’d been staring. “I only see a door.”

  Hope smiled. “Sometimes the future begins with a door that gets opened by God.”

  The little guy looked even more confused, making Hope laugh. “Come on, let’s sing a few songs.”

  Last night, Sinclair had unleashed a lot of feelings. Hope wouldn’t allow those feelings free rein until the preschool had been voted on. And then maybe she’d explore the possibility of dating her pastor. If he ever got around to asking her out.

  Chapter Six

  On Wednesday, Hope left the church for a quick lunch. She needed fresh air, even though a streak of hot and humid weather had gripped northern Michigan. It might be late June, but it felt more like late July. That morning, she’d prepared for tonight’s building committee meeting held after the midweek service. She was ready. Hopefully Sinclair was, too.

  Sinclair’s schedule had made it tough for them to talk about anything personal, which had been fine by her. She really didn’t want to revisit what had happened between them Saturday night. Besides, the intense feelings could have been one-sided, and she really didn’t want to find out those feelings had been hers alone.

  Monday had been Sinclair’s day off, but her heart had jumped every time a door opened that day. On Tuesday he’d had a meeting with parishioners and then spent the afternoon at the hospital visiting the grandmother of one of the church families. This morning, he’d been holed up in his office on the phone or planning his Wednesday evening message.

  In between day-to-day business, Sinclair had treated her like normal, as though their embrace had had no effect on him. And that was good. Great, really. They’d healed from the past and were friends again. But every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms around her and remembered the way he’d looked. The way he’d smelled. Hope shook her head. Sinclair had never been interested in her before, and she shouldn’t expect him to be now.

  She made it back to the church and tossed her uneaten half sandwich in the church’s fridge. Hope slipped into the office, grateful for air-conditioning. The sight before her made her stop and watch.

  Hannah Cavanaugh and her sister, Grace, sat cross-legged on the floor with Sinclair. The three of them were surrounded with crayons and construction paper, chatting like old friends. They were so busy talking about the orphanage school in Haiti where Sinclair had spent the past three years that they hadn’t heard her come in.

  A contemporary Christian song played over the radio with its volume louder than she liked, but Hope didn’t move. Shannon spotted her, and Hope quickly gestured for silence by placing her finger against her lips. She nodded toward the three on the carpeted floor.

  Shannon smiled and went back to working on her computer.

  “How old are the kids at your school?” Hannah leaned forward on her elbow as she colored in the flower she’d drawn.

  “All ages. Many live at the school because they lost both their mom and dad in the big earthquake.” Sinclair’s paper had cutouts of footballs and soccer balls pasted on dark blue construction paper. He’d glued baseball cards on it, too.

  Where’d he get those?

  Hope knew the church supplies did not include sports cards. Sinclair must have bought them on his own for the kids at the orphanage.

  “What happens in a earfquake?” Grace lisped.

  Sinclair looked thoughtful for a minute. Completely at ease with these two girls, he captured his knees with his arms and leaned back. “Well, the ground shakes really hard, and it makes buildings collapse and fall down. Sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes hurt real bad.”

  Grace’s eyes bulged, and she scooted a little closer to Sinclair. “Will we have one here?”

  He ruffled her hair. “No, Grace, we shouldn’t have one here.”

  Grace noticed her then. “Miss Hope! Come and see.”

  Sinclair looked at her and smiled, and Hope’s stomach turned over. He was a natural with people, no matter how old or young. He didn’t talk down to the girls, but connected with them on their level and made them feel important.

  Hope walked toward them, fearing her heart might be dangling from her sleeve. Seeing Sinclair with young children did something to her. Too easily, she could picture him as a father. That was something she’d never done before, and an unfamiliar yearning shook her.

  “When did you get back?” Sinclair asked.

  “A few minutes ago.” She focused on the girls. She didn’t dare look into his eyes. “So what are you guys doing?”

  “Drawing pictures to send to children in Haiti,” Hannah explained.

  “See?” Grace held up her red paper with various stick people and something that looked like it might be a dog.

  “Very nice.”

  Sinclair grabbed a manila folder lying on the floor next to him and stood. “The kids in Haiti love getting stuff from other kids. The girls made several while you were at lunch.”

  Hope wrinkled her nose. “They’ve been here that long? I’m sorry. If you were busy—”

  “No, no. This was perfect timing. See?” He flipped open the folder to show her the girls’ pictures, and a personal check fluttered to the floor.

  They both bent down, but Hope got there first. When she spotted Sinclair’s signature and then the amount of the check, she wished she hadn’t grabbed it.

  Handing it over, she stammered the obvious. “So you support them?”

  Sinclair tucked the check into the pocket of his khakis. “Yeah, I do.”

  Hope’s head spun. With that kind of support for the school in Haiti, would he have anything left to pledge toward the building project?

  “Pastor Sinclair?” Hannah stood up. “Here’s my letter, too.”

  Sinclair took it. “Thanks. We’ll read the return letters together. How’s that sound? Good?”

  Both girls nodded and smiled, and then Grace wandered over to Shannon’s desk, looking for something else to do.

  Hope switched gears and went into teacher mode. “Let’s gather these crayons and paper first. Gracie, my dear, you know where art supplies go.”

  “Yes, Miss Hope.” Grace dragged her feet but finally helped her sister.

  As the girls cleaned up, Hope looked at Sinclair. “Thank you for giving them a little taste of the mission field.”

  “You never know where it might lead. Maybe we should start a pen-pal effort with our teens.”

  Did his loyalties lie with the youth group? Hope didn’t want her kids left out, the smaller kids. “We can make drawings in children’s church,
too. Maybe even start a coin drive.”

  Sinclair’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea. I’d love to adopt the orphanage and school in Haiti as a church, but one thing at a time, right?”

  “Right.” Hope fought the dread that crept into her heart. Sinclair’s real vision, his passion for ministry, remained in Haiti.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, Hope popped her head into Sinclair’s office. He’d organized his bookcase nicely, but his desk was a mess. Papers, Bibles and coffee cups littered the top. “Need anything before I leave?”

  He looked up and smiled. His glasses had slid down his nose, but instead of pushing them up, he stared at her over the dark rim. “No. But thanks for asking. Will I see you tonight?”

  Her pulse quickened, but disappointment followed. There was no sign of him wanting to see her alone. He wanted to see her in the service and meeting afterward. That was all.

  “I’m working with the kids tonight, but...” Swallowing the let-down, she gave him her best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation. “I’ll be back.”

  He chuckled. “Great. See you later, then.”

  His attention returned to the papers in front of him, and Hope kicked herself for wishing for something more. A look or gesture, anything that might give her a clue to his feelings. She thought that maybe he’d been attracted to her a little, but now—who knew? And she was making herself crazy.

  Back at her desk, Hope gathered her things and waved at Judy, who looked like she planned to work late, too. “See you later tonight.”

  “Tell your mom hello for me.” Judy smiled.

  “I will.”

  Once home, Hope helped her mom with dinner while her dad finished up in the barn.

  “How’s work?” her mom asked.

  “Fine.”

  “You’re getting along with Sinclair okay?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded her head. “We’re getting along just fine.”

  Her mother stopped chopping lettuce for tacos and gave her an odd look. “But?”

  She’d never told her folks about Eva’s engagement party, and it felt like she was hiding something important from them. From her mom. Releasing her guilt and extending forgiveness to Sinclair were huge, and yet she hadn’t said a word to anyone.