Courting Hope Read online

  “But nothing.” Glancing at her mom, Hope knew Judy Graves would have filled her mother in on the building committee issues, even if they both denied it. And that was a safe subject.

  Her mom waited, as usual, for her to spill. Hope always shared what upset her, but she couldn’t confess her feelings for Sinclair. She was too used to hiding them. And Hope wasn’t convinced that these feelings were not leftovers from when she was a kid.

  “He still hasn’t decided what project to get behind,” Hope finally blurted.

  “That shows growth on his part, don’t you think? Sounds like he wants to be certain before committing his support.”

  Her mother made a good point. The old Sinclair jumped in first and thought later. How many times had Hope been caught up in the impulsiveness of the moment, only to regret the outcome? Like the time they’d floated down the river on a huge chunk of ice that had broken in half. She’d fallen in. Sinclair had managed to fish her out, but they were both nearly frozen by the time they made it home.

  Fingering the scar on her lip, Hope narrowed her gaze. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  Her mom laughed and gave her a quick squeeze. “Yours, honey. Always yours.”

  Her folks were lighter in spirit since they’d come home from their weekend away. Maybe they’d gotten a little closure, too.

  * * *

  Sinclair watched Hope pass out her spreadsheet to the rest of the building committee members. She explained the rough costs for starting up a preschool, then she reviewed data she’d previously collected from families in the area who’d shown interest in sending their kids. Her income figures were conservative, and yet, by her projections, they’d break even in about four years.

  Not bad.

  Really good, actually. Everything about Hope was good, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She made him want things he wasn’t ready for. Step one in the process of courting Hope was becoming a man worthy of her forgiveness. That meant doing things right and in the right order. He wanted to gain her parents’ approval and clear his intentions with the board before asking Hope out. Those things took time, and patience was never his strength, but he’d do it. For her—for both of them, really.

  Judy Graves stepped up and passed out the prefab building information. Sinclair had asked her to run the meeting so he could observe and listen. If he’d stop focusing on Hope, he might learn something.

  He scanned the lower costs for a youth center, noting there was no income generation. They couldn’t afford a larger prefab model to allow for both, so a choice had to be made. He prayed that God would reveal the best choice. The best project to get behind and lead the charge. He owed this congregation that caution.

  He owed that to Hope, as well. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  She’d changed into jeans when she went home, but kept on the same pretty green top she’d worn in the office. He liked what she wore these days. He liked a lot of things about her.

  Seemed like everything in his brain wound its way back to her. Hope might be exactly what he wanted. What he needed. She’d make an excellent partner in building a strong church. In building his life...

  “Pastor, we’re ready to take a vote.” Judy waited for him to agree.

  “Uh, yeah. Go ahead.” Sitting straighter, he watched the raise of hands for each option. Split right down the middle, and he hadn’t voted. He wasn’t going to, either.

  “Well, Sinclair. Which is it going to be?” Chuck Stillwell’s eyes held a challenge.

  He didn’t dare look at Hope. “I’m not ready to decide, and I don’t think we’re ready as a group, either. Not until a real majority of us gets behind one project can we instill confidence in our congregation. It’s their money we’re spending.”

  He waited out the murmurs of agreement and disagreement as the group broke up to go home. Hope gathered up the paper coffee cups and tossed them in the trash. Like after their last meeting, she emptied the grounds from the coffeemaker and headed for the kitchen to clean the pot.

  “You’ll have to get behind something, Sinclair.” Judy caught him watching Hope and joined him. Standing side by side, they both knew what a blow losing the preschool would be to her.

  “I know.”

  “The congregation already approved the preschool under the previous minister.”

  “I know that, too. I’ve talked to him on the phone a few times.” Sinclair valued his predecessor’s opinion.

  “He’s a good man who will give you good advice.”

  “Yeah.” But Sinclair worried that Chuck might pull his support if they went with the preschool. They needed his pledge to make it work, which meant cementing Chuck’s buy-in before Sinclair pushed.

  Judy patted his shoulder. “I pray you know what you’re doing.”

  Sinclair smiled. “Me, too.”

  He chatted with a couple more committee members before joining Hope in the kitchen. She leaned against the sink and stared out the window. She’d been quiet all night. She usually was at meetings.

  “You okay?”

  She whirled around, disappointment clear in her eyes. “I thought you’d left.”

  “Not yet.”

  She grabbed a damp cloth and spray bottle of disinfectant and headed back toward the meeting room where they’d gathered around tables used for Sunday school. Hope sprayed down the surface and quickly wiped up coffee stains and crumbs from the cookies Judy had brought.

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head and wouldn’t look at him. “Almost done.”

  Great. She thought he was wishy-washy and afraid to make a decision. He hated appearing weak, especially in her eyes. “Hope, I have an idea for a church picnic that I need your help with.”

  “Yeah?” She kept wiping the same spot on the table.

  He took the cloth from her hands. “You want to get dessert and discuss it?”

  She didn’t look like she’d agree to go. In fact, she took a step back from him. Afraid, again.

  “Please?” He needed her. Needed to talk to her.

  He’d been so careful around her these past couple of days. Worried that he’d get too close in the office, he’d stayed away from her. He tried to ignore the spark that had ignited between them Saturday night. Ignoring it hadn’t made it go away. If anything, the pull between them had grown stronger.

  He watched her wrestle with her decision, and pushed a little more. “Come on.”

  * * *

  The way he coaxed her with that deep voice of his was impossible to resist. Hope grabbed the cloth back with a snap of disgust at her weakness. The pleading look in those hazel eyes of his made her cave. Again.

  With a sigh, she said, “I’ll get my purse.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  She turned sharply at that. “Your girl?”

  “Well, aren’t you? We’ve been buds forever.”

  She rolled her eyes. Buds. Yeah, like she wanted that. She’d always wanted more.

  They locked up the building and headed for the parking lot.

  “We can take my car.” Sinclair opened the door for her.

  Without a word, she slipped into the passenger seat and tried to relax. It was pretty hard to do that when everything about Sinclair seemed magnified in his silly car. His shoulders spanned a little broader in the bucket seat, and his smile was a little wider.

  She wondered if he smelled as good as he had Saturday night. If Sinclair wore cologne, he didn’t wear much because it wasn’t strong. She’d have to get pretty close to find out, and even that temptation roared louder inside Sinclair’s shiny red Camaro.

  “Where to?” Her voice felt thick and dry.

  “The family restaurant near Northport?”

  “Great. Now tell me about this picnic.” She hid behind
the reason he’d asked her along. The picnic was definitely a safe topic.

  “I was thinking a Fourth of July picnic will do the trick.”

  “What trick?”

  Sinclair smiled at her like she was Grace’s age and clueless. “I’d like to get to know the congregation as a whole, you know, on a more personal level.”

  He’d been out to lunch and dinner with several of the church members. Everyone wanted to get to know him on a more personal level. A couple of single ladies their age had met with him, too—but Hope didn’t think they’d gone to lunch. At least she hoped they hadn’t.

  “The Fourth is Monday. People might already have plans for this weekend.” Her reply sounded sharper than she’d intended.

  Sinclair shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We can grill hamburgers and hot dogs at the park in town. People can come and go as they please. We can wrap up before the fireworks.”

  Hope had always loved watching Fourth of July fireworks. They reminded her of when she and Sara were little. Evenings past, when it’d been cold, the two of them had bundled up in blankets to cheer every boom and burst of lights overhead. Her sister’s childlike enthusiasm had been sorely missed these past few years. Hope still applauded with vigor, but more in memory of her sister.

  Maybe this year she could cheer for the sheer pleasure of it. Maybe she’d make new memories with Sinclair. But would they be good ones?

  “You only have this Sunday to announce it,” she reminded him.

  “I know.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out.” So what did he need her for?

  “Not the details, like games and that sort of thing.”

  Hope pulled out a pad of paper from her purse and jotted down questions and considerations for the picnic, as well as a mock-up announcement for the bulletin.

  “What’s that?”

  “Plans for the picnic.”

  Sinclair smiled. “That’s one of the things I love about you. You come prepared and ready to organize.”

  Hope paused midsentence while writing. He’d said it off-the-cuff, maybe even in jest. She’d been called anal-retentive before, but mention of the word love erased every other thought in her head.

  She tapped her pen against the pad of paper. What had she been writing anyway? Hope peeked through the steering wheel and noticed his speed. “You’re going too fast.”

  He grinned. “You’ve told me that since we were kids.”

  His smile was infectious, but she remained stern. Bike riding, skiing, boating, tubing or in cars—Sinclair had always gone fast. No matter what the mode of transportation, he loved a good thrill ride. “That’s because it’s true.”

  Instead of speeding up like he used to, Sinclair slowed down. “Better?”

  The look he gave her made her stomach feel like they’d gone airborne, only to land hard. “I’m just thinking of you. How would that look for Three Corner Community Church if word got around that their pastor was slapped with a speeding ticket?”

  He laughed. “It’d be pretty funny.”

  Hope shook her head. Same old Sinclair. But he wasn’t the same, not really. And neither was she. She didn’t have to succumb to his boyish charm. She had a choice. She could protect herself by leaving him alone. If only she could forget she’d ever fallen for him.

  The rest of the way to the restaurant, Hope pretended to concentrate on the notes she’d written. Anything to keep from wishing for a repeat of Saturday night. What would have happened had she not left?

  Once seated in a booth with their orders taken, Hope scanned her picnic list. “I think the church can provide the meat, chips and lemonade. People can bring their own dish to pass if they want to.”

  She felt Sinclair’s hand cover her own.

  “Thanks for doing this.”

  She stared at his tanned skin. Sinclair had warm, strong hands with a few rough calluses on his palm. And yet she’d seen how gently his fingers grazed piano keys—felt them touch her cheek.

  She tried to laugh off his gratitude. “For coming with you or making my list?”

  He chuckled but didn’t let go of her hand. “Both.”

  He had lines around his eyes, and Hope realized he was under more pressure than he showed. Without thinking, she threaded her fingers through his. “How’s Ryan?”

  “I don’t know how to reach him. Or how to help him.”

  “Maybe he needs to work through this on his own.”

  “He’s had three years to work through it, and he hasn’t. It’s like Ryan’s stuck inside his grief.”

  “Maybe he’s buried his memories of Sara because it hurts too much to remember. Seeing you come home has to bring it all back.” Hope knew how buried feelings had a way of sprouting back to life.

  Sinclair squeezed her fingers. “You might be right.”

  Hope wished there was something more she could say or do, but the waitress brought their order of pie with ice cream. She released Sinclair and sat back.

  Looking around the restaurant, she spotted her parents a couple tables over. Her heart sank when her father gave them an unwelcome glare.

  “What’s wrong?” Sinclair looked around and spotted them, too. He gave her parents a nod.

  Her appetite spoiled, Hope pushed her plate away. How long had they been watching them? If the scowl on her father’s face was any indication, it’d been a while.

  “You want me to talk to them?”

  Hope gave her folks a wave. No sense ignoring them. “No. It looks like they’re finished.”

  Her parents got up to leave, and her father made a beeline for the cashier without giving them a second glance.

  Hope felt her cheeks blaze at the obvious snub.

  Her mom made her way to their table. “Hello, Sinclair. You’ll love that peach pie. See you at home, Hope.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Hope peeked at Sinclair. He’d given her mom a grateful smile.

  Obviously, her dad had too much in common with Ryan. He wasn’t letting Sinclair off the hook from the past.

  “Sorry,” she whispered after her parents were outside.

  “For what?”

  She jerked her head toward the door. “That whole thing.”

  “Don’t be. It’s all right. I get it.”

  Hope nodded, but she didn’t understand her father’s reaction. She understood that it might be hard to let go of what happened to Sara and forgive Sinclair, but the least he could do was be civil.

  They ate their pie and chatted about picnic details. Sinclair made her laugh, and she relaxed. They talked like the old friends they’d been, but it felt new and different. Sinclair listened as she told him more about herself.

  By the time Sinclair pulled into the church parking lot to drop her off at her car, Hope was glad she’d gone with him. The edginess she felt around him had eased.

  Until Sinclair put his Camaro in park and turned toward her. “Thanks, Hope.”

  “You’re welcome.” She held her breath. With the windows down, the warm summer breeze teased her, making her feel like they were in a world of their own. Would Sinclair talk about Saturday night? Or repeat it?

  “Well, good night.” His hands gripped the steering wheel.

  Guess not. Hope swallowed a twinge of disappointment and opened her door. “Good night.”

  Walking toward her car, she told herself this was better. He was her pastor, and they worked together. Staying friends was good. It’s what was best until the preschool had been voted on. But her wayward heart had never listened to what was best.

  Sinclair waited until she’d started her car, and then he drove off with a quick beep of his horn and a wave.

  Being friends was good.

  For now.

  * * *

&nb
sp; Hope came home to a quiet house, but her folks were not in bed like she expected. They lounged in the living room, watching the end of the news on TV. “Hey.”

  Her father glanced at the clock. “’Bout time you came home.”

  Hope ignored her father’s comment and headed back to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  Her dad entered like a storm cloud. “I’m not even going to beat around the bush. What’s going on between you and Sinclair?”

  “Nothing’s going on.” She was old enough to make her own decisions, even if she wasn’t good at it.

  “You were holding hands.” Her father’s agitation seemed a little over the top.

  “So? We were talking about Ryan—”

  He held up his index finger and pointed. “When are you going to learn your lesson?”

  “What are you talking about?” she ground out.

  “He’s always been reckless and impulsive.”

  “He’s changed, Dad. He’s grown up, like we all do. Why can’t you give him a chance?”

  “Because he blew them all.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it? Look at you. You’re twenty-seven and still mooning over him.”

  “What?” Her eyes felt like they might pop out of her head.

  “Now, Jim.” Her mom touched her father’s arm, but he pulled way.

  “He’s not worth it, Hope.”

  “How dare you hold what happened to Sara over his head. Over mine! If you knew how much guilt he’s been carrying around—” Her voice broke.

  Her father’s eyes softened, and so did his voice. “This has nothing to do with Sara, honey. My problem with Sinclair Marsh has always been about you. And only you.”

  She jerked her head back like she’d been slapped. “Me?”

  “Do you know what it’s like for a father to watch his lovesick daughter get her heart trampled on year after year?”

  Tears filled Hope’s eyes. Had she been that transparent? Did she even now act like a lovesick idiot chasing after a dream that might never come true?

  Tonight, Sinclair hadn’t bothered to get out of his car when he’d dropped her off. She’d wanted him to kiss her good-night, to make her feel special. She wanted so much. But she hadn’t acted on those longings. Instead she’d accepted his friendship like she’d always done before.