The Man Was No Stranger… When Hope Petersen looks up to see Sinclair Marsh standing in her office doorway, it brings back bittersweet memories.

She can’t forgive him for the terrible accident that changed both their lives. Now that her girlhood crush is the new pastor of the church she runs, Hope is forced to work with him—and her old feelings resurface. Sinclair seems determined to show her and their Michigan hometown that their minister is a changed man. Is Hope ready to move beyond the past and risk her future on the man she never stopped loving?

Sinclair turned around and saw Hope with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It’s no one’s fault.” Her voice sounded raw with emotion. “Sara’s death was an accident. I finally get that.” She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

His shoulders shook, but he held on tight to the lifeline she offered. She didn’t know how long they stood there crying. Sinclair’s arms around her made her feel safe, like the strong ties of docking rope that gave a ship stability in a storm.

The party blared in the background. She could hear laughter and music, but both were muffled by Sinclair’s warm shoulder. Then the band played a slow song she remembered from high school dances.

She’d always lingered on the bleachers, wishing…

“Dance with me,” he said.

Hope swallowed sudden panic.

But he gave her a hint of a smile and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful? Because you are, Hope, inside and out.”

JENNA MINDEL

lives in Northern Michigan with her husband, Steve, their two dogs and one sassy guinea pig named Aunt Bea. She enjoys a career in banking that has spanned over twenty-five years and several positions, but writing is her passion. A 2006 Romance Writers of America RITA® finalist, Jenna has answered her heart’s call to write inspirational romances set near the Great Lakes.

Courting Hope

Jenna Mindel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

There is a time for everything and a season for

every activity under heaven. He has made everything beautiful in its time…

—Ecclesiastes 3:1, 11

To EEC’s very first coed softball team

and our glorious 1-13 season!

What we didn’t win in games, we won in fun!

Acknowledgments:

I’d like to thank Pastor Mark and Tanya Drinkall

for sharing with me their journey and calling

into the ministry. You guys are awesome!

To my agent, Karen Solem,

for not giving up on me.

And my editor, Melissa Endlich,

for giving me another wonderful opportunity

to write for Love Inspired. Thank you both!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Mondays were Hope Petersen’s favorite day. They were quiet days. Mondays helped her forget Sundays, where the family dinner table reminded her of the one person no longer there.

Hope stopped typing to stare out the window of her small office in the lower level of Three Corner Community Church. It’d been almost three years since Sara had died, and she could hear her sister’s voice telling her to get over it already. To move on. Stop trying to fix Mom and Dad and get a boyfriend.

“Fat chance,” Hope muttered.

Working in a small church consumed her time and kept her anchored to the northern Michigan farm community where she’d grown up. It wasn’t easy meeting the right kind of guy.

Hope turned her focus back to updating the church website with the previous Sunday’s sermon. Delivered by an elder on the board who was filling in until they hired a permanent minister, the notes were pretty short. And dull, from the looks of them. She was glad she’d missed it.

“Hello, Hope.”

She knew that deep voice despite not having heard it in years. Hating the shiver that raced through her, Hope balled her hands into fists and looked up.

Sinclair Marsh stood in the doorway of the office, waiting for her response. His mouth lifted into the boyishly crooked smile she remembered well. That smile had always landed him whatever he wanted. That same smile had enticed Sara to follow his reckless, Pied Piper path to her death.

He’d aged. Could be the dark-rimmed glasses he now wore, which made his hazel eyes look like they’d seen too much. It didn’t matter. His simple words of greeting turned her inside out.

“What are you doing here?” Hope’s thick voice came out in a rough whisper.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Her voice grew stronger even though her throat threatened to close up. The church board had been interviewing for months. Surely they hadn’t made their decision while she was gone.

“I’m the new pastor.”

Hope clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. Too many descriptions came to mind when she thought of Sin Marsh, and pastor wasn’t one of them.

He shifted his stance to make room for Judy Graves. Judy was an elder and longtime member of the church board. The backbone of the church, Judy was their financial guru as well as head of the volunteer program. And Judy happened to be best friends with Hope’s mom.

Hope looked toward Judy. She wanted answers. “I thought you were going with someone named Smythe.”

“I’m plan B.” Sinclair stepped forward as if reminding her of his presence.

As if she’d forget. Why hadn’t they told her?

Judy stared her down, sending strong messages of her own. “I’m giving Pastor Sinclair the tour. He’ll need to see the year-to-date financials, as well as go over day-to-day stuff. I’m going to show him his office so he can get settled in, but I’ll be back.”

With a gaping mouth, Hope watched the two of them leave. Well, her Monday was officially shot! Thoughts spinning, she gulped for air, but the June breeze coming in through the open window wasn’t enough. Suffocation was eminent if she didn’t hightail her way out of there.

Grabbing her purse, Hope headed for her car. She tossed her purse on the passenger seat but didn’t climb in. The wind ruffled her short hair and swirled the folds of her long gauzy skirt against her legs.

Of all the men they could have hired, why Sinclair Marsh? Since when had he come home?

She stared at the ripe hayfields across the road until her vision blurred with memories. Not quite three years ago, her dad’s hayfield had needed its final cut. Hope could smell the sweetness of freshly cut hay—could almost taste the dust kicked up from the tractor. Sara’s laughter rolled through her memory, too. Sara had been so full of laughter.

Hope was supposed to help her sister with that cut, but she’d gone shopping instead for her planned trip to Spain. Hope had landed a job with a worldwide missions organization and could hardly wait to leave.

Besides, Ryan Marsh was Sara’s fiancé and he and Sinclair had come over to lend a hand. Like always, they’d goofed around. Only this time, their antics had ended with Sara dead—crushed under the tractor after it had flipped. Sinclair had mowed a patch of grass into the letter S on the side of a hill, and he’d dared Sara to do the same....

Hope heard footsteps on the tarmac, but she didn’t turn around. If it was Sinclair, she might just let him have it.

“You okay?” Judy touched her shoulder.

She flinched. “I can’t work here.”

“I had a feeling you might react this way.”

Hope whirled around and slammed her car door. “But you hired him anyway!”

“It wasn’t my decision alone. We interviewed him last week, and the board unanimously approved Sinclair after Reverend Smythe took a position downstate.”

Hope reveled in the satisfaction that for once, Sinclair had come in second place. But the smug feeling was short-lived. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were on vacation. I love your new hairstyle, by the way.”

Hope shrugged off the compliment. She would have liked to have known about Sinclair. She’d have had time to prepare instead of seeing him out of the blue like this.

Even though she’d grown up with Sinclair and they’d hung around like pals, Hope had never felt comfortable around guys. Growing up with a mouth full of braces and a chest a tad too big made her want to hide. And hide she did—under clothes, hair...even her eyeglasses gave her a sense of protection.

Not anymore. She’d long since gotten rid of the baggy clothes and glasses, and thanks to the prodding of a girlfriend from college, Hope had finally cut her mop of hair. The two of them had spent last week in Toronto shopping and taking in shows.

Hope shifted her stance, wishing she could find a way to hide again. “I’m not going back in there. You’re going to have to find somebody else.”

Judy’s eyes narrowed. “What about the school?”

For years the church had raised money to build an addition for a couple of real classrooms. The extra space would accommodate Sunday school classes and enable them to start a small preschool during the week. Hope also wanted to include a summer program. Too many single moms in the church had too few options during the summer months.

Hope had a dual degree in early education and Spanish. She’d been dreaming about running the educational interests of the church for as long as she could remember. As part of the building project committee, she’d researched state licensing requirements, commercial financing and local builders. The church had been poised to accept bids for construction once the pledges were paid. And then their previous minister had retired early due to health concerns and moved away.

Interim pastors and a wavering church body had stalled the plan. They needed the right man leading the charge to get the project back on track. Sinclair Marsh could not be that man.

“Without you, that school doesn’t stand a chance.”

Hope lifted her chin. “The groundwork’s all there.”

Judy scanned the surrounding fields before focusing back on her. “Sinclair has a new idea that’s less costly. Some of the board members like it. A lot.”

“What kind of new idea?” Hope could only imagine the irresponsible suggestions Sinclair might have.

“A youth center, Hope. He’d like to propose a place for teens to hang out and stay away from trouble.”

“Out here?” Hope sputtered. Had they been in town, she could see the need for something like that. But they were a few miles out. Fruit farms dotted the hills and valleys between older homes, and new subdivisions had been halted because of the downturn in the economy. “That’s a stupid idea.”

“Well, it’s an idea that struck a chord with the board, especially Chuck. We need you here, Hope. I need you.”

She looked into Judy’s earnest gaze, knowing she was sunk. Hope had promised her friend Dorrie that she’d never give up on the preschool, and yet here she was, ready to quit. All because of Sinclair Marsh.

Swallowing hard, Hope thought about another issue. “What about Mom and Dad?”

“I believe with all my heart that God wants Sinclair to lead our church. I can’t say I know why, but it feels right. Maybe in time we’ll figure that out, but right now I pray your parents will give him a chance. I want you to do that, too.”

“I can’t.” Her eyes blurred again. “Not after what happened.”

Judy pulled her into a warm embrace. “No matter the influence, your sister was an adult who made her own choice to do something foolish. I know you miss her, Hope, but harboring unforgiveness toward Sinclair isn’t good for you. It isn’t good for anyone.”

She shook her head against Judy’s strong shoulder. As far as Hope was concerned, Sinclair was the reason she no longer had a sister.

“You’ve got to let it go.”

Hope pulled out of the older woman’s embrace. “How? There isn’t a day that goes by that feels right. Dad misses Sara. I can see it in his eyes. It’s like I’m left with clouds and can’t make the sun shine again.”

“It’s not up to you to make the sun shine for them. They have to find that sunshine on their own.” Judy squeezed her shoulder. “You think about that school. You have a calling for it. Can you really walk away?”

Hope sucked in her bottom lip. Judy knew the right buttons to push. God could work it all out, but what if quitting messed up His plan?

A youth center? Hope had talked Sinclair out of his set course several times when they were kids. Could she do it again?

Judy gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Come back when you’re ready.”

Hope watched her mother’s lifelong friend walk away, knowing Judy was right. If she quit now, what chance did Hope have for getting the preschool project back on track? It’d fizzle and die—another dream gone.

An image of the completed addition blazed through her mind. Dorrie and her two girls were part of that image. They needed supervision over the summer break. Lots of kids did. Hope knew the community and its needs. Unfortunately, so did Sinclair. After all, he was a local boy returned home.

Tipping her head back with a groan, Hope stared at the blue sky above. Like it or not, people depended on her and she needed to get back to work.

* * *

Sinclair took in the small space of his barren office. He had a desk, a couple chairs and a bookshelf. He could easily see Hope’s empty desk from his. The church offices had been situated along the side of the basement opposite the kitchen and an open area used for Sunday school and probably fellowship dinners. He had a nice-sized window with a view of hayfields, and beyond the parking lot, cherry orchards covered the hills and more fields.

He spotted Hope pacing. She’d changed since the last time he’d seen her. A family member’s death did that to a person on some level, but he also detected a confidence in her that he didn’t remember. Her outward appearance was different, too—so different, it had taken him a couple minutes to recognize her.

Hope had slimmed down, losing her college freshman fifteen and then some. With her bushy long hair cut into a short cap of dusky waves, she looked good. Maybe too good. And they’d be working together.

He’d searched online for ministry positions in northern Michigan for months. There were three churches in his hometown of LeNaro, but the only pastoral staff opening had been here—a community church three miles north of town and smack in the middle of cherry farm country.

He should have known that Hope might still work in this office. She’d worked here through college, but she’d been planning to go to Spain the summer he’d left. He never thought to ask about her during his interview.

He stepped away from the window. Knowing Hope ran the office wouldn’t have made a lick of difference in his decision. He’d come home to make amends for his past. If he faced an uphill battle, it was no less than he deserved.

His brother Ryan barely spoke to him, and Hope still blamed him for Sara’s death. He could see it in her eyes. Her pretty gray eyes that were no longer hidden behind Coke-bottle glasses.

Judy stuck her head into his office. “You okay?”

He nodded, even though it felt like he’d been hit in the gut by a ground ball that had taken a bad hop. “I take it Jim and Teresa Petersen attend here, as well. Maybe I should call and let them know.”

It was his first position as a pastor, and he’d walked into a personal beehive. He could take getting stung, but for how long?

“I’ll talk to them tonight and let you know how it goes.” Judy’s eyes softened.

“Thanks.”

Three years ago, Judy Graves had encouraged him to work through Sara’s accident by sticking around to face his part in it. Judy had been firmly in his corner during the short police investigation. It looked like she was still there.

“You’re here for a reason, Sinclair. Don’t forget that.”

“It’s why I came home.”

Judy gave him a thatta-boy nod and left.

Sinclair glanced back at the window, where sunlight streamed into the room. He stood and opened it, letting in a cool breeze despite the uncommonly hot weather for mid-June in northern Michigan. He’d never grown accustomed to the oppressive heat he’d experienced in the years he spent in Haiti, but he’d managed. He’d worked through it. He’d do the same with Hope, if she’d let him.

* * *

Hope wiped her face with fast-food napkins that she had stashed in her car’s glove compartment before stepping out of her Jetta. After a therapeutic cry and some soft music, she felt halfway ready to go back to work.

She spotted Sinclair reaching into an ancient candy-apple-red Camaro. He still drove that target for speeding tickets. He hadn’t changed.

“Nice image for a minister.”

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 building 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.

She hadn’t counted on the intensity shining from his eyes and wished he’d go away already. “Not today.”

He looked relieved. Sinclair needed her to stay.

He needed her.

She didn’t care for the fleeting warmth that swirled through her at the thought. Not one bit.

He returned to the corner of her desk. “What are you working on?”

She gave him her most intimidating glare, but he stayed put. “I’m updating our website with your bio as the new pastor.”

“Where’d you get the information?”

Hope kept typing. If she ignored him, maybe he’d go away. “From your résumé.”

“Keep it short and to the point, okay?”

Hope looked up at him then. “You want to proof this?”

“No.”

“Fine.” Hope waited for him to leave.

“Okay then, good.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We should probably have a staff meeting this week. There’s a receptionist, right? And a janitor?”

“Both are part-time. Shannon Williams works a few hours a day and covers lunch hour phones, but her baby was sick yesterday. She and her husband also volunteer their time with the youth. Walt comes in the afternoon since he works another job in the morning. And Judy’s here every morning. But then, you probably already know that since she’s on the board and interviewed you. We’re a big ol’ staff of five, not including you.”

“You know everyone’s schedule better than I do. Let me know when you want to meet.”

Hope bit her lip. She’d always scheduled meetings for her previous pastor, but it wasn’t easy taking direction from Sinclair. Hope was too used to telling him no.

When they were kids, he used to egg her on to do things she knew better than to do. Like when she was fourteen and they’d jumped off the LeNaro Bridge with inner tubes to float down the river. She’d split her lip on the air stem. Hope fingered the now tiny scar. Her parents had pitched a fit because she’d needed five stitches.

The word no hung on the tip of her tongue.

“Problem?” He waited for her acquiescence.

Hope came back to the present. “Nope. I’ll let you know by the end of today.”

He finally slipped off her desk. “Good. Can I review the annual budget and the financial report for the building project?”

“I’ll email them to you.” Hope shoved a slip of paper his way. “This is your church email. I’ll also set up a shared calendar schedule that we can both access.”

“Cool.” His finger touched hers as he tried to grab the note.

Hope quickly pulled her hand back. The phone rang again, shattering the awareness that tingled through her. Answering on the second ring, she breathed easier when Sinclair walked toward his own office.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Larson, what was that?” Hope hadn’t heard a word.

While she chatted about dessert possibilities to welcome Sinclair after Wednesday night’s service, Shannon slipped into the receptionist desk. She gave Hope a wave and craned her neck to get a peek at their new pastor.

Finally off the phone, Hope jotted down her to-do list for tomorrow’s errands. She’d have Walt set up a couple of tables at the back of the sanctuary for refreshments, and she’d pick up cookies from the bakery in town. Mrs. Larson would see to the punch. They already had a supply of cups and napkins in the church kitchen.

“Wow, Hope. He’s cute.” Shannon had been trying to fix her up since they’d met. “Is he single?”

Hope shrugged. “He’s not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.” Hope didn’t care to know.

Really, she didn’t.

“We’ll have to find out.” Shannon stood. “Come on, introduce me.”

Again, Hope shook her head. “Look, I grew up with him. I’m not interested, so you can forget whatever you’re thinking.”

Shannon looked at Sinclair and then at her. “Hmm. So you two have a history. This should be very interesting!”

* * *

The next day, Sinclair slumped in the kitchen after polishing off an evening snack. The house belonged to his sister, Eva, now, and she shared the place with her friend Beth. And his parents were staying through the summer. It was pretty spacious for an old farmhouse, but felt cramped. Sinclair wanted a place of his own. He needed to be by himself. After three years of living in crowded staff quarters for the orphanage school in Haiti, Sinclair longed for quiet. When things settled down, he’d look for something.

He ran his thumbnail along a groove in the old oak kitchen table where he’d eaten hundreds of meals as a kid. Meeting the congregation had not gone as planned. They seemed like a warm group of people. But after his message had landed with a wet-bag-of-cement thud, he wondered if he’d gotten his calling all wrong.

“You look tired, Sinclair. How was your first midweek service?” His mom rubbed his shoulders.

He was glad his parents hadn’t been there to witness his failure. “I’ve had better.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shrugged.

His staff didn’t take him seriously. Hope spoke to him only when necessary, and Shannon, the receptionist, acted like she knew something he didn’t. Walt, the maintenance guy, thought he was too young, and tonight he’d blown his first message delivered from the pulpit. Three days into his first week as a pastor, and the job was nothing like he’d expected.

Wednesday night services were less formal than Sunday, so he’d thought he could be more...honest. He’d definitely made an impression, but if the blank stares were any indication, not the kind he’d wanted.

Had his congregation missed the whole point of his tales of Haiti? He might have driven it home too hard that they had so much while the people he’d served in Haiti had next to nothing. He’d probably been too graphic, but folks should know the truth.

With a sigh, he confessed, “I think I shocked a few people tonight.”

Rose Marsh slid into the seat across from him. “Maybe they need to be shocked. It’s never a good thing to get too comfortable in the pew.”

He smiled at his mom. At only five foot two, she was a powerhouse of opinion who didn’t believe in beating around the bush. She didn’t stand for sulking, either. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You know I am.” His mom flashed him a cocky grin. “I understand Hope Petersen works with you.”

Sinclair lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t told anyone in his family. “How do you know?”

“Judy Graves. I ran into her at the grocery store earlier this week. How’s that going?”

He shrugged again. Hope did her job well. At the welcome reception for him after the service, people had swarmed around her. She had that effect on him, too—drawing his attention like a honeybee to its hive.

“Sinclair?” His mom had an amused look on her face.

“It’s a little rough around the edges, but we’ll work through it.”

“Maybe you should bring her to Adam and Eva’s engagement party.”

As if she’d go. “I don’t think so.”

His mom leaned forward. “She used to have quite a crush on you, you know.”

That was news to him. Hope used to laugh at his many breakups with girls and say she wouldn’t wish him on her worst enemy. “Hope? No way. I drove her nuts. Besides, Ryan might have a hard time with that. Too many memories.”

His mom grasped his hand. “It might be good for Ryan to see Hope. It’s time he moved on. Sara’s been gone a long time now.”

Sinclair understood why his brother had shut down. He functioned like part of him was missing—his better half. Sara Petersen had been a lighthearted soul who looked for fun in everything she did. From the time they were teens in the same youth group, Sara had drawn out his serious younger brother and made Ryan laugh like no one else could. The two had dated for years. When she’d died they were engaged, but they might as well have been married. They’d been inseparable.

“I don’t know, Mom. I can’t even talk to him anymore.”

She patted his hand. “You weren’t here when he needed you, son. Ryan won’t let that go.”

“Why can’t he see that I was needed in Haiti, especially after the earthquake?” Sinclair had run away by going on a church mission trip a week after Sara’s funeral. Once he’d been in Haiti and seen the needs of the orphanage school, he’d stayed. Ryan hadn’t forgiven him for it.

“Don’t give up on him. Ryan needs you even if he won’t admit it. God has brought you home where you belong, Sinclair. Just hang in there.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He didn’t feel like he belonged here, not in his childhood home at least. God had brought him back, that much he knew. But the time spent in Haiti, coupled with the reason he’d gone there, made it hard to feel comfortable anywhere.

* * *

“Hope, can you come into my office?” Sinclair looked troubled the next morning as he filled his coffee cup.

“One sec.” Hope hit Save on her computer.

He returned to his office, which was across a small corridor. Hope could see him from her desk, and she’d caught his eye several times that week without meaning to.

Sinclair had given her an interesting sermon to outline for Sunday. He wanted copies stuffed into the bulletins passed out before the service. So far, she was impressed by his preparation. Sinclair must have finally left behind his bad habit of procrastinating on studying until the last minute.

Shannon wiggled her eyebrows. “Sounds serious.”

“Please stop.” Hope stood and headed for the pastoral office.

She couldn’t block the unease that crawled up her spine with each step she took. What could Sinclair want? They’d pretty much kept their distance the past few days.

Leaning against the doorway of his office, Hope forced herself to relax. “What’s up?”

“Come in a minute, would you?”

Hope slipped into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and waited. His window was open and she could hear birds chirping in the crab apple tree outside. A warm breeze that smelled like summer blew in and rustled loose papers sitting on Sinclair’s desk.

He gathered them up and stuffed them under the file labeled “Church Budget.” A much fatter file containing all the information for the building project sat next to it.

Her preschool.

Clearing his throat, he looked at her. “I want to ask you something, but I need you to be completely honest.”

“Okay.” Hope waited.

He looked at her then. “Don’t answer right away. Give it some thought.”

She wiped her palms on her khaki skirt. “What is it?”

“This is going to sound so stupid.” He ran his hand through his brown hair, which had been sun-streaked blond in places. And then he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A nervous habit he’d picked up. She’d never seen Sinclair nervous until these past few days. “I need to know, from someone whose judgment I trust...”

“Yes?” Hope leaned forward. Would he listen to her ideas for the project?

“Last night’s message—what did you think?”

Hope blinked a couple times. “What?”

“The service, my stories. Did I come on too strong?”

“Hmm.” Hope hadn’t expected such a question. She’d never expected Sinclair’s confidence to be shaken, either. And clearly he didn’t feel confident. It made her want to smile. Big-time.

Instead, she stalled. “Why do you ask?”

“I got a lot of blank stares.”

Hope didn’t want to soothe him, but she couldn’t lie, either. She’d been blown away by the harsh realities the Haitian people faced. Sinclair had been working at an orphanage that had swelled like a tidal wave after the earthquake. He’d witnessed devastation and death. Still, between the massive graves for the dead and the violent looting, she had a feeling that last night’s message only scratched the surface of the horrors Sinclair had seen. Listening to him, Hope knew how easily he could have been killed. The reality of Sinclair gone forever had brought an unwanted ache deep in her chest.

She narrowed her gaze. “You didn’t exaggerate?”

He shook his head.

“I think you made some people uncomfortable, and you’d better be ready to hear about it.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look like she’d given him the answer he’d wanted. Well, Hope wasn’t about to pat him on the back for scaring her congregation with his experiences in Haiti. Sure, he’d met a lot of needs and served like any God-fearing person should, but running off to Haiti three years ago had been one of his wild-hair whims. He’d jumped at the chance for adventure. He’d jumped at the chance to run away from her, Ryan and every reminder of what had happened to Sara. He’d run away from his part in it. She wouldn’t applaud that.

“You think I shouldn’t have gone there.”

What did he want from her? Hope shifted, but his direct gaze pinned her like a paper leaf on a classroom bulletin board. “To Haiti? Or last night’s message?”

“Both.”

She didn’t want to answer that. She might let it slip how hard it had been for her after Sara had died. Despite blaming him, she’d needed him then. “All I know is that you’ve seen some crazy stuff.”

“Real crazy.”

By the shadows that glazed his eyes, she feared he might tell her just how crazy. Her throat dry, she whispered, “Why did you come home?”

“I couldn’t keep running from what had happened. God led me home to face Ryan, your parents. Even you—especially you.”

Hope took a deep breath but tears threatened. She fought the clogging of her throat. She didn’t want to get into this. Not now. Not at work. “Don’t.”

“I won’t. But eventually we have to.”

Judy’s words about holding on to her grudge echoed through her mind. It was easier to blame Sinclair than herself. If only Hope had been there. If only she hadn’t gone shopping, Sara might still be alive.

He dipped his head to catch her attention. “Subject change?”

She sniffed. “Please.”

“Tell me about this building project. Why a preschool?”

Hope couldn’t lay open her dreams without figuring out where he was coming from and what he had planned. “Judy said you wanted a youth center.”

“The board would like to eventually hire a youth pastor. To do that, we have to reach the teens in this area. A youth center might draw them to our church.”

Hope gritted her teeth. “Shannon and her husband do a fine job with the youth.”

“Yes, they do. But their time is limited. Especially with a new baby.”

“The preschool has already been approved by the board.”

“Before your minister retired a year ago. Things change, Hope.”

Dread settled in the pit of her belly. “Are you changing the plan?”

He didn’t answer right away. If they dropped the preschool, what then? There’d be no reason for her to stay. How could she face Dorrie when she’d promised to do everything she could to push the preschool through?

“Sinclair?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. What’s a little preschool going to do for this church?”

Hope felt her hackles rise, but she feared letting him know how much this little preschool meant to her. “It’s all in that file. The preapproval for a commercial loan, the bids. Once the pledged money is collected, we should be able to break ground.”

“This is old data. The preapproval expired. The circumstances changed the day your previous minister left.”

“But Judy—”

“She’s in favor of the preschool. Some of the other board members aren’t so sure.”

Hope gripped the edge of the chair. Judy hadn’t described it quite that way. “Why do we need a youth pastor when we have a gracious couple who volunteer? Our teens are a very small group, and we’re not even in town.”

“That’s true.”

“The enrollment projections for a preschool were conservative, but there are a lot of young families in the area who responded favorably to sending their kids.”

“There are good day cares around here.”

Hope forced a deep breath. “We’re talking about early education from a Christian worldview. There’s a huge difference.”

“I know you put a lot of work into this. You were a big part of the project committee and kept the ball rolling, from what I heard. What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”

“Because I have a degree in early childhood education and I want to run that preschool.” She’d let the words slip out before she could catch them.

Understanding spread across his face, but then his brow furrowed. “Makes sense.”

What didn’t make sense was that she’d let him know her dream before she could trust him with it. Trust was a moot point with Sinclair Marsh. He’d always done what he wanted.

A quick knock on the doorway of his office saved Sinclair from having to elaborate any further. A tall, barrel-chested man stood in the doorway.

“Hey, Chuck.”

“Am I interrupting?” Chuck Stillwell, board member, large commercial cherry grower and the church’s biggest financial supporter, stepped into Sinclair’s office.

“Not at all. We’re done here.” Hope bounced out of her chair and left the room.

* * *

Sinclair watched her walk away as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Refocusing his attention on Chuck, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

Chuck closed the office door. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” What else could he say?

“Your message was a little strong last night.”

He braced himself for the complaint Hope had predicted he’d receive. “It’s easy to forget how sheltered we are up here.”

Chuck looped his hands around one knee and leaned back in his chair. “That’s not where I was going. The truth isn’t always comfortable, but sometimes it has to be said. Can I be blunt?”

Again he nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the guy, who was something of a blowhard.

“I know you’ve got a heart for missions. And that’s good. But I’m interested in what goes on in this community, not some faraway place. I want to save you the trouble of asking me to support your school in Haiti, or any foreign missions for that matter.”

Sinclair forced his mouth closed before he said something he’d regret. He had to think like a pastor now and respond the same way. In bible school, the motto had been that good pastors didn’t react—they listened.

He sat a little straighter. “I hear you.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “Hearing is fine, but doing is better. I get hit up for money all the time. I don’t need my minister looking to me for a donation every time I turn around.”

“Fair enough.” He’d never ask the guy for a dime.

“But the idea of a youth center to bring in teens isn’t bad. I’d like to get my nephew up here as soon as he graduates from bible school. He’d be a big help to you as a youth pastor.”

Sinclair knew where this was going, and it registered why Chuck had pounced on his suggestion of a youth center. “What about the preschool? It’s been approved before, and many, including you, have already pledged financial support.”

“Until you’ve collected those pledges, I say we keep our options open.”

Nice tangle. Sinclair could push for Hope’s preschool or succumb to Chuck’s pressure for a youth center to validate hiring a youth pastor—namely, Chuck’s nephew.

He spotted the building project file on his desk and nearly sighed. Either way, he’d let someone down.

Chapter Three

Sunday morning, Sinclair stood by the kitchen sink with a cup of coffee in hand. Staring out at the sloping cherry orchard, he noticed that the fruit had grown since he’d come home. The straw-colored cherries were ripening, and promised an early harvest.

The trees on higher ground had been torn up by the storm that had rolled through the area, stripping many of their crop. A few random cherry clumps still hung in odd spots, making it look like a giant hand had swiped many away.

The hand of God? He didn’t know.

Sinclair didn’t understand why bad things happened to good people. Bad choices were one thing, and he’d made plenty. But an act of nature? How did that fit? The earthquake in Haiti that had bound him there had been so devastating and senseless. And yet he’d witnessed incredible faith through the darkest times. Reflecting on that faith had the power to humble him still.

What he faced now wasn’t so bad.

He’d been up since dawn, and it was still early. No one else was awake. He’d prayed, gone over his notes and then prayed some more. The nerves hadn’t gone away. This would be his first Sunday message as a pastor. He’d delivered sermons before but never with the responsibility that came with shepherding a flock. He sure hoped he got this one right.

Hearing footsteps on the side porch, he turned as the door opened. Adam Peece, Eva’s fiancé, walked inside, followed by Ryan. Both were dressed for work in the field.

“Sinclair.” Adam nodded. “That coffee up for grabs?”

“Help yourself.” He watched his younger brother focus on retying the shoelaces of his work boots. “You guys are out early. What’s up?”

“Trimming the sweet cherries in the orchard. Eva thinks we should open it for pick-your-own cherries since the entire block came through the storm perfectly.”

“Need help?”

“We got it.” Ryan stood tall, using his six-foot-plus height to intimidate.

Sinclair didn’t look away. He might be half a head shorter at only five eleven, but Sinclair was tired of the dodge game they’d played since he’d come home. He was sick of Ryan shutting him out by keeping conversation at a minimum.

Adam stepped in. “I could use all the help I can get. If you’ve got time before church.”

“I’ve got time. Give me a minute to change.” Setting down his cup, Sinclair headed for the stairs.

It was barely six, and his service didn’t start until ten. Sunday school classes had fallen off during the year Three Corner Community Church had gone without a permanent pastor. There was no need for him to arrive before nine. A couple hours working in the field might help him relax. Anything to stop worrying about the upcoming sermon.

Once in the orchard, the three of them split rows. Sinclair and Adam trimmed opposite ends, and Ryan took the middle. For the first half hour they worked in silence, but Sinclair recognized Adam’s fervor immediately. The guy moved at a quick, efficient clip that reminded him of his dad, Bob Marsh. Except Adam looked like there was no other place he’d rather be. He even hummed as he worked.

“He really loves this.” Sinclair jerked his head toward his future brother-in-law.

Ryan cracked a hint of a smile. “He’s just like Eva in that respect. They’ve got big plans for this place.”

“Dad seems happy about it.”

“He’s glad to help without having the worry that goes with owning it.” Ryan snipped a high branch.

Sinclair smiled. Their father had finally realized the beauty of carefree living after selling the orchard. He loved knowing that his dad was happy. He also loved having a conversation of more than five words with his brother. It might be stilted, but it was a start.

“Slow and steady.” The words slipped out like a prayer.

Maybe they were his, or maybe God had put them on his tongue. Didn’t matter, really. Sinclair had learned from his botched attempt to make amends with Hope and her parents. He couldn’t rush forgiveness. He wanted to earn it, but he knew better. It was a gift that had to be offered. It was a gift he didn’t deserve.

“What?” Ryan asked.

Sinclair shrugged. “Dad’s finally free.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “He loved this farm.”

“Maybe for a time, but it was slowly choking the life out of him. Like it did to Gramps.”

Their grandfather had shot himself while cleaning his gun in the pole barn. It was deemed an accident, and the life insurance money paid off the farm debts so their father inherited with a clean slate. Their grandfather had been in such deep financial trouble that Sinclair wondered if the “accident” hadn’t been intentional. No one really knew.

“You never liked the orchard,” Ryan’s voice accused, even though the questions surrounding Gramps’s fate were part of the reason Ryan never wanted to take over the orchard.

“Nope, I never did. But I can appreciate its beauty and the value of having it.”

An image of Hope sitting at her desk seared his brain. He’d never before noticed her quiet beauty hidden underneath all that hair and those glasses.

They’d both played ball in high school. She’d been on the girls’ softball team, while he played baseball. He’d treated her like one of the guys. They used to throw a ball back and forth and talk for hours. She’d been his friend and confidante, but he’d taken their friendship for granted.

He’d kissed her once, but it had been a joke. An impulsive stunt after a bunch of guys in youth group had dared him to ask her to go snipe hunting. The toughest nut to crack, Hope had always been sensible and smart. He thought she’d see right through his request and turn him down flat. But she didn’t. She’d gone with him into the woods to look for an imaginary snipe. After pulling her close to point out a nest in a pine tree, he’d stolen a kiss.

Back then he’d laughed at her eager response, and Hope had punched his arm for it. When he’d asked her why she’d gone along with the prank, she’d given him a lame explanation about wanting the practice. She’d told him that he was the safest guy she knew to practice kissing with.

Only Sinclair couldn’t remember Hope ever kissing anyone else. Or dating anyone, either. She’d gone to the prom with one of his friends, but Sinclair had put the fear of God in the guy if he so much as touched Hope the wrong way. Sinclair had her back—at least that’s what he’d thought then.

The memory of her tender lips on his made him stop and think. What if his mom was right about Hope having a crush on him all those years ago? Looking at it now, he felt ashamed of how callously he’d treated her. How clueless he’d been.

What surprised him more than his mother’s revelation was his interest in rekindling that part of their past. Truth be told, he wanted to kiss Hope again and see what happened.

No way would he go there, though. He had no desire to become a wedge between her and her parents. Plus, working together made dating a miry slope he shouldn’t start down.

Nope, Hope was definitely better off without him trying to start something he wasn’t ready to finish. She deserved more than that.

* * *

“Thanks for filling in for me, Shannon. I owe you one.” Hope closed her phone and took a seat at the table for breakfast.

Gypsy lay on her bed in the corner of the kitchen, thumping her tail every now and then. The dog knew better than to beg, especially when she’d get scraps after the meal was over.

“What was that about?” her father asked.

“Shannon’s going to lead children’s church.” Hope stabbed a couple pancakes with her fork and stacked them on her plate.

Hope wanted to hear Sinclair’s first sermon. Had to, really, in case of content complaint. She’d gotten only one phone call about his Wednesday night message, but still. What if he wanted her opinion about Sunday’s service? She’d have to be there to hear it.

Sipping from her glass of orange juice, she caught an exchanged glance between her mother and father. “What?”

Her mother perked up. “Does this mean you’re going to go with us?”

They were following through on their threat. Her parents wouldn’t attend Three Corner Church with Sinclair Marsh as pastor. “Where are you going?”

“A church in Northport,” her father said between mouthfuls.

Hope knew of several. One was on the loud side, and she couldn’t imagine her folks staying there, but there were other choices. Good choices. She took a deep breath and answered honestly. “I’d like to hear Sinclair’s first Sunday sermon.”

Her father looked ready to grumble, but her mom stopped him with a touch of her hand. “I heard he shocked quite a few with his stories of Haiti.”

Hope had received only one call. “From who?”

“Mary Stillwell.”

“She exaggerates.” Hope spread tart cherry preserves on her pancakes before dousing them with syrup. It was something she’d learned to do from Sinclair’s sister, Eva, way back when.

“You’re defending him.” Her father’s eyes narrowed.

“All I’m saying is that he didn’t sugarcoat the truth.”

He used to. Sinclair could put a positive spin on anything, especially on what he wanted. A natural charmer of people, Sinclair was a leader. He’d had the makings of a fine salesman, or politician even.

Or pastor.

In a way, ministers were persuaders of the truth. And Sinclair Marsh had been the master of persuasion. Hope had the scars to prove it.

For the first time since he’d returned home, Hope found herself hoping for a little of the old Sinclair charm when it came to this morning’s service. She wanted the congregation to embrace him so he could lead the way toward getting the preschool built. Once she convinced him that it was the right vision for Three Corner Community Church.

“And you believe him,” her dad muttered.

“Yes.” Hope looked at her watch and pushed her plate of half-eaten pancakes aside. She didn’t want to get into it with her parents. She’d heard him speak. They hadn’t. “I’ve got to go.”

“Leaving a bit early, don’t you think?” Her mom gave her an odd look.

“I’ve got some stuff to do in the office.” Hope hurried for the door.

She didn’t want to explain that nothing specific waited for her. Hope wanted to be available before the service in case Sinclair needed information. He’d told her Friday that he wanted to give the church an update on the building project. She wasn’t about to miss that.

“When will you be home?” Her mom looked concerned. Dinnertime was a big deal in the Petersen household.

“I’m not sure. I’ll call if I’m late.” Hope grabbed her purse, wondering for the hundredth time if it wasn’t past time she moved out.

She’d traded part of her life because her folks had lost part of theirs. The part that had looked forward to Sara taking over the farm. And the part that had yearned for grandchildren from Sara and Ryan.

Glancing back at the kitchen table, her heart twisted. Her parents had aged in the past three years. They were still young, but to Hope they seemed tired. The joy in working the farm was lost.

How could she leave them?

“Bye, honey.” Her mom waved.

Her father grunted something that sounded like good-bye.

Hope didn’t like disappointing them, but she wasn’t leaving her church with the preschool up in the air. Not when they needed her vote. She wouldn’t give up because Sinclair made her folks uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable, too, but for reasons she’d rather not examine.

When Hope pulled into the church parking lot, she immediately spotted the red Camaro. It was pretty hard to miss the car’s shiny wax job. She shook her head. He’d always loved that car.

She walked toward the church but stopped when she heard the sound of music drifting out the open windows of the sanctuary. Someone played the piano, and the notes were reverent and haunting. Beautiful.

Sinclair.

Hope’s eyes closed and her insides tightened as she stood outside and listened. What went through his mind while he played? Did he ever think of her?

Opening her eyes, she pushed those kinds of wishes aside. Why would he think of her anyway? Just because she thought of him constantly didn’t mean he’d return the favor. Taking a deep breath, Hope opened the door and went inside.

* * *

Sinclair looked up when he heard the door open. He expected their worship leaders, Diane and Bud, to arrive soon to practice and didn’t want to be in their way. Instead, he saw Hope standing in the doorway, and his pulse took an erratic skip.

Sunshine poured in behind her, making her look ethereal, like something he might have dreamed. Like something that might slip away if he tried to touch.

She stepped closer, and he noticed a dainty dragonfly clip worn in her hair, pulling some of her bangs over to the side. It only reinforced the fairylike image.

“Are you ready for your first sermon?” Her smile was sweet and conciliatory.

Were his nerves easy to see? “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Your outline looked good. ‘God Changes Everything’ is a catchy title.” She smoothed the front of her skirt.

“Thanks.” He slid down the long piano bench and patted the wood. “Wanna sit down?”

Her eyes widened, and she hesitated. Maybe she was a little nervous, too. But then she perched on the end of the bench, and her slim fingers caressed the piano keys.

“Do you play?” he asked.

“Not very well.”

“Play something.”

She let out a shaky laugh and launched into the simple beginner’s piece called “Chopsticks.”

After listening to her for a few moments, he joined her on the lower end of the keys. For a solid five minutes they played together, filling the sanctuary with carefree music. The connection through the simple song made him forget the distance that had grown between them.

Watching Hope concentrate so hard on touching the right keys delighted him. She’d always taken every task seriously. When she caught her bottom lip between white teeth, he stared at her soft beauty. Why had he never before noticed how pretty she was, especially up close? He forgot that he’d placed her off-limits and hit the wrong note.

She laughed and turned toward him. “Where did you learn to play the piano? I don’t remember you playing before.”

“My mother wanted us kids to play Grandma Marsh’s old piano in the living room, but I was the only one who kept at my lessons until high school. I took more lessons in college from a music major I was trying to impress.”

Hope smiled again. “Did you?”

“Impress her?”

She nodded.

“No. She went after a football player. But I realized how easy it was to connect with God through music. Different maybe, but playing helps me focus.”

“I should let you get back to it.” Hope started to get up.

“Stay.” He touched the soft skin of her arm. She calmed his nerves but rattled his senses.

She didn’t move; she stared at his fingers still resting on her forearm.

He let his hand drop and cleared his throat. “This morning I’m going to announce a building committee meeting held after this Wednesday’s service. We need to move forward on the project.”

Her gaze flashed to his. “Have you decided what to build?”

“That’ll be the main topic of discussion. We’ll need to get a rough idea of how a youth center compares financially to the preschool. I’ll need your input.”

“What about opening it up to the congregation?”

“Once we have a decision from the board, we’ll do that.”

He knew how much Hope wanted that preschool, yet she’d look for acceptance from the whole church. She wasn’t trying to ramrod her way like a certain board member with a nephew. He appreciated that. He appreciated too much about his office manager.

The worship team tromped into the sanctuary, their laughter loud and distracting. Sinclair cast them a glance and waved.

Hope got up to leave. “I better make sure Shannon has everything she needs for children’s church.”

“You’ll be back for the service?” He wanted her opinion on his message. If he were truthful, he’d admit that he wanted her assurance. He didn’t want to let his congregation down on his first Sunday service. He didn’t want to let Hope down, either.

She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

After Walt and his wife, Carol, rang the church’s bell, Hope took her seat in the fourth-row pew as always. She ignored the creeping disappointment that her parents really weren’t coming. She’d hoped they’d finally show.

It proved difficult to concentrate during the short worship service. She’d close her eyes, only to open them and find herself staring at the back of Sinclair’s head. He wore a nice suit for his first Sunday message, but no tie. He preferred T-shirts underneath his button-downs. After working with him for a week, Sinclair seemed different—but had he really changed?

She’d done her best to keep her distance. Wednesday night, she should have remained downstairs with the children’s program instead of making arrangements to hear Sinclair’s first message. Ever since she’d heard him talk about Haiti, she’d felt drawn to him in a way that irritated her. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. She shouldn’t want anything to do with him, but after all these years, Sinclair still fascinated her. Now maybe even more.

When greeting time rolled around after the kids had been dismissed for children’s church, Hope hit the aisles. She chatted with people she’d known most of her life. She bounced off questions about her parents’ whereabouts with vague answers. But some of them looked like they’d guessed the reason, even if they didn’t say a word. They remembered Sara’s accident. They remembered that both Sinclair and Ryan Marsh had been there that day.

“Good morning, Hope.”

Hope halted her steps when she recognized Bob and Rose Marsh. Of course they’d attend their son’s church. She hadn’t thought about it, nor had she prepared for it. Especially when Sinclair had told her that Eva and her fiancé were counseling at their own church—the church both of their families had attended when they were teens.

Pressing on her stomach to quell the rush of memories, Hope drew in a deep breath and then reached out her hands. “Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, nice to see you.”

Sinclair’s diminutive mom enveloped her in a warm hug instead. “You look wonderful, Hope. How are you?”

Hope didn’t meet Rose’s direct gaze. The woman could see right through a person, and Hope didn’t want to be read like an open book. “Good, thanks. And you both?”

“Retirement agrees with us, right, Bob?” Rose elbowed her husband.

“Sure does.”

“But you’re here for the summer, right?” Hope remembered how Rose used to invite her to stay for dinner, along with Sara. Sara had often raved about how the Marsh family had been tight. Were they still?

“Yep, helping Eva and Adam with the orchard. By the way, we’re having a party—”

“Hey, Mom,” Sinclair interrupted with a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “We’re about to get started.”

“So these are your parents?” Mary Stillwell moved in. “You must be so proud. Sinclair, you have to introduce them to the church body.”

“Ah, yeah. Mom, Dad, this is Mary Stillwell.”

“My husband, Chuck, is on the board.”

“We’ve met before. Stillwell is one of the largest commercial growers in the county,” Bob Marsh said. “How’d he fare the storm a couple weeks back?”

Mary gave an awkward laugh like she didn’t dare give any information away to a competing grower. “Time will tell, right?”

Hope noticed that Sinclair looked flustered when Chuck joined the circle and started talking cherries with his dad. Marsh Orchards had never been close in scale to Stillwell Farms, but Bob Marsh still wore his pride openly. He bragged about the big plans his future son-in-law had for their orchard.

“I better get us back on track,” Sinclair whispered close to Hope’s ear, and briefly caressed her arm.

His touch made her shiver. She caught Rose Marsh’s eye, and Hope’s heart sank when she saw the woman’s smile grow a little wider.

Sinclair’s voice came over the microphone, calling the parishioners back to their seats. “It’s nice to know I’m in a church where greeting time turns into full-blown fellowship. I can’t wait to see what the potlucks are like.”

Hope sat down amid the good-natured murmurs and laughs. The church hadn’t had a potluck in months, so hearing Sinclair mention looking forward to one might as well have been an invitation to schedule one. No doubt Mrs. Larson was already thumbing through her calendar to pick a date. And Hope would get a call from her tomorrow, prodding her to make plans.

Hope’s fingers gripped the edge of her pew as Sinclair took the podium. Why did it matter so much how well he did this morning? He looked natural and composed, except for the tightness of his jaw as he introduced his parents. And then he joked about keeping this message clean, and Hope felt her tension ease.

Then Sinclair prayed, and she noticed something different about him. His stance seemed firmer and his shoulders a little broader as he opened up his Bible and straightened his notes. There was a gleam in his eye as Sinclair boldly read a passage from chapter three in Philippians. He didn’t read with the carefree charm she’d expected. Sinclair spoke with confidence about forgetting the past and looking forward to the future by trusting God.

His deep voice rang out with conviction. Hearing him speak with such fire made her skin prickle into goose bumps. And yet there was humbleness in him, too, like the day he’d approached her parents. She’d seen a peek of that then.

He talked about how God had changed him. He admitted that he’d made mistakes and didn’t have all the answers. He advised everyone to put their trust in God, because Sinclair would most likely let them down.

When he looked directly at her, Hope had to swallow the lump of emotion that rose in her throat. His eyes blazed with contrition, and Hope couldn’t look away.

When Sinclair moved on to reference the next scripture verse, Hope looked around the sanctuary. The congregation was transfixed, held captive by words spoken with truth. Words that closed with an invitation to those who wanted to put their trust in the Lord to come forward.

A couple of people answered the altar call, and Hope felt a wash of pride for her new pastor. If anyone could rally this church body around a building project, it was Sinclair. She could see that now. If only she could be sure which project he’d get behind.

After the service concluded, several people rushed to the platform in order to shake Sinclair’s hand. That was as good a sign as any that their new pastor had been officially accepted.

Hope made for the exit with her insides twisted into a ball of old and new feelings. She was proud of Sinclair, but something else swirled inside her heart that was too dangerous to name and too scary to let loose.

Walking outside into the warm sunshine, she sorted out those disturbing emotions concerning her boss, pastor and longtime friend. He’d let her down so many times. But then she’d had unrealistic expectations of him. Dreams.

Hope boxed up those dreams and put them away like she’d done a hundred times before. Tamping her feelings down deep, she refused to care for Sinclair all over again.

Not looking where she was going, Hope bumped right into Rose Marsh. “Oh, sorry, excuse me.”

Rose smiled and then pushed a small envelope into her hand. “Please come.”

It looked like an invitation. Hope tipped her head.

“Eva and Adam’s engagement party. Eva would love to see you.”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Hope searched for an excuse but came up short. She couldn’t find the words to refuse. Wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Don’t worry about Sinclair. Don’t worry about calling to RSVP. Just come.” Rose patted her hand and left.

Hope stood in the parking lot, staring at the envelope. If Sinclair had truly changed, seeing him with his family would prove it.

After tearing open the seal, Hope read the date and sucked in a breath.

Saturday night at Marsh Orchards.

This Saturday would have been Sara’s twenty-fifth birthday. They couldn’t have known when they had scheduled the party. Ryan might not have even remembered. If he had, she couldn’t imagine him saying anything about it to dampen his sister’s joy.

Hope had run into Ryan a few times in town, and every time she’d seen him, he’d looked lost. She supposed they all were, to an extent.

How could she go and not break her parents’ hearts? Yet watching them try not to fall apart wasn’t something she wanted to do. She couldn’t face another year staying home to grieve. Her sister would never want that kind of morose tribute.

Hope looked back and spotted Sinclair talking to several people on the steps outside the sanctuary. He met her gaze and cocked his head, almost as if he could see the struggle inside her.

She gave him a quick wave and headed for her car. In the driver’s seat, she fingered the invitation with its pretty pink parchment paper and fancy lettering promising a happy occasion. She wanted to accept that promise, but at what price?

Stuffing the invitation back in the envelope, Hope started her car and headed out of the parking lot with a whispered prayer for direction. She knew from experience that following your heart wasn’t always the best decision.

She shouldn’t go. Plain and simple.

But she had six days to decide what to do. Plenty of time to change her mind.

Chapter Four

Sinclair stopped by his office at church to pick up a business card he’d left there over the weekend. He also wanted to hear Hope’s thoughts on Sunday’s message. She’d give him an honest answer.

Hope’s opinion had always been important to him, but now it seemed vital. She knew the church so well. She knew the people and their expectations. She’d tell him if he’d missed the mark. Although he didn’t think he had.

“What are you doing here? Monday is your day off.” Hope caught him in the hallway between offices.

He lifted the business card. “I’m meeting a distributor of prefabricated commercial buildings to get some quotes. Wanna go with me?”

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