“You need a new wife, and I’ve decided maybe God picked out Ms. Ellie to be her.”

Kristie clasped her hands together. “Remember the Bible story yesterday about how God picked out Rebecca for Isaac, to be his wife? Well, I was helping God’s plan by letting you be together without me. So maybe you’d kiss Ms. Ellie.”

Ellie couldn’t look at Quinn—not until the memory faded of that moment in the meadow when she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

“Kristie, none of us knows what God intends,” she finally said.

Kristie grabbed her hand. “But don’t you like my daddy, Ms. Ellie?”

She willed her voice to be steady. “Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I’d be the right wife for him. That’s something you have to let your daddy decide.” But in spite of her words, she prayed Quinn would. Because she’d begun to fall in love with him.

MARTA PERRY

began writing children’s stories for Sunday school take-home papers while she was a church educational director. From that beginning she branched into writing magazine fiction and then book-length fiction. She’s grateful for the opportunity to write the kind of books she loves to read.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years, and they enjoy visiting their three grown children scattered around the globe. In addition to writing and travel, Marta loves hearing from readers and enjoys responding to their letters. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017.

A Father’s Place
Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Many waters cannot quench love;

rivers cannot wash it away.

—Song of Songs 8:7

This story is dedicated with love and gratitude

to my friends in Christ at First Church.

And, as always, to Brian.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Prologue

Prayers from Bedford Creek, Pennsylvania

Father, please remember my son, Quinn. He’s so bitter now, and if only he’d come home, maybe I could help him….

Please, Lord, bless my brother, Quinn, and help him to see that he has to forgive….

And God bless my daddy, and bring him back home to stay. Please don’t forget that I’d like a new mommy, and if it’s okay with You, I think my Sunday school teacher, Ms. Ellie, would be just perfect….

Chapter One

He’d come home to the town where he no longer belonged, to break up his mother’s romance. Put like that, Quinn Forrester decided it didn’t sound like a creditable goal. It wouldn’t impress the woman he was about to see, and he needed Ellie Wayne’s cooperation. Either that, or he needed her surrender.

The tension that had driven him for days cranked up a notch. His natural instinct was to explode, demanding explanations, but that wouldn’t work. He’d have to exercise diplomacy to get what he wanted from Ellie Wayne, and his talent for that had grown rusty over years of fighting nature’s rampages in places considerably wilder than this one.

He glanced along the narrow street. Bedford Creek, Pennsylvania, spread up a narrow cleft in the mountains from the river. Its frame houses climbed the hillside in steps, as if they’d been planted there.

Ellie Wayne’s craft shop was on the lowest street, along with the police station, a few other small shops and a scattering of houses. Opposite it, the park spread along the flood-prone land by the river. His practiced engineer’s eye automatically noted the water level, higher now from the frequent rain than was usual for August.

The craft shop, the lower floor of a frame house, had been a newsstand when he was a boy, when Bedford Creek was a sleepy backwater where nothing ever happened. Then some energetic citizens had decided to capitalize on turn-of-the-century architecture and wooded mountain scenery.

Since then, like much of the town, the shop had been transformed into a quaint attraction for the tourists who deluged the village during the summer and fall. He stepped around a man with a camera, dodged two women laden with shopping bags and stopped.

Ellie Wayne had an eye for display—he’d give her that. An artfully draped quilt brightened the shop window, surrounded by handwoven baskets and dried-flower wreaths in colors that picked up the quilt’s faded earth tones. A yellow stuffed cat snuggled into a needlework cushion.

He’d planned his visit for closing time on this busy summer Saturday, hoping to catch her alone after the last of the shoppers left. He didn’t want any eavesdroppers on the conversation he was about to have.

He took a breath, tried to curb his impatience and reached for the door. A bell jangled, and the cool, dim interior invited him in. The woman behind the worn oak counter glanced up, her brown eyes registering his presence. But she wasn’t alone yet. Two last-minute customers fingered a quilt that was spread across the counter, peppering her with questions.

He moved behind a display table heaped with woven tablecloths and inhaled the faint, spicy aroma of dried flowers. Every inch of the tiny shop displayed something—his first impression was clutter; his second, coziness.

He intercepted a questioning glance from Ellie Wayne and pretended interest in a stack of handmade baskets, tamping down his irritation.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Her voice was as welcoming as the shop.

“No hurry.” He forced cordiality into his tone. “I can wait.” He could wait. When he talked to her, he wanted the woman’s undivided attention.

Undivided attention—that was also what his mother and his six-year-old daughter wanted from him. They’d been reluctant to let him out of their sight since he arrived home yesterday, as if fearing he’d disappear back to the Corps of Engineers project that had occupied him for so long.

Too long, he realized now, far too long. It had been too tempting to bury himself in work after Julie’s death, too easy to convince himself that Kristie was better off living with his mother in this comforting, safe place where nothing ever changed.

He gripped the oblong basket he’d picked up. Things had changed, and if he’d been a better father, a better son, he’d have realized that. Bedford Creek wasn’t a safe little backwater any longer. The tourism boom had brought strangers to town—strangers like Ellie Wayne and her father.

He glanced toward the woman. Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to describe her as a stranger. She’d opened her shop four or five years ago, and he must have seen her playing the organ in church on his few visits home. But it was only in the last few months that Kristie had begun talking about Ms. Ellie so much, and even more recently that her innocent chatter had paired Grandma with Charles Wayne. And then his sister Rebecca had called, concerned about their mother’s infatuation for a man she’d just met, and he’d known it was time to come home.

The customer produced a credit card. Apparently the transaction had been successful. Ellie smiled as she folded the quilt, her hands lingering as if she hated to part with it. A neat salesperson’s gimmick, he decided. She probably hoped to sell them something else.

He assessed the woman, trying to look at her without preconceptions. Slim, tall, probably about thirty or so. A wealth of dark brown hair escaped from a woven headband to curl around her face. There was nothing conventional about Ellie’s looks. Her face was too strong, her coloring too vivid, with those dark expressive eyes and the natural bloom in her cheeks.

Nothing conventional about her clothing choices, either. Today she wore a long skirt and an embroidered blouse that would look more at home in an artists’ colony than in Bedford Creek. He shouldn’t let that quick impression prejudice him against her, but he couldn’t deny the feeling. She looked as if she didn’t belong here.

The bell jangled as the customers went out, and he tensed. Ellie Wayne was an unknown quantity as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want to do battle with her, but he would if he had to.

She came toward him with the quick, light step of a dancer. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. May I help you with something? I have those with different colors of reed woven in.”

He glanced down at the basket he’d nearly forgotten was in his hands. “I’m not shopping.”

Her eyes widened as if he’d insulted her wares, and he reminded himself he’d intended to be diplomatic. “It’s very nice,” he added, putting it down.

Faint wariness showed in those expressive dark eyes. Maybe it was her eyes, maybe it was the ethnic flavor of her clothing, but a thread of song wound through his thoughts, its lyrics warm and yearning, something about a brown-eyed girl. He shoved the distraction away.

“Then what can I do for you?” she asked.

“I’m here about my mother.” She still looked at him blankly, of course. She didn’t know him from Adam. “I’m Quinn Forrester. Gwen’s son.”

“Quinn?” Her voice lilted with surprise. If he expected guilt, he didn’t get it. “Gwen didn’t tell me you were coming home.”

It was almost as if she should have been informed, and irritation flickered through him. “Does she tell you everything?”

“I didn’t mean that.” Warm color rose in her cheeks. “I’m just surprised she didn’t mention it.”

“Especially since you see so much of each other.” He didn’t intend the words to sound accusing, but they did.

She stiffened, apparently sensing his attitude. “Your mother and I are cochairing a craft show next month for the church.” She said it carefully, as if weighing each word. “So we have been seeing a lot of each other lately.”

“It’s a little more than that, isn’t it?” He wasn’t going to dance around the subject any longer. It was time the woman leveled with him. “The way I hear it, your father’s the one who’s spending a lot of time with her.”

He couldn’t be mistaken about her reaction to that—a flash of fear. She masked it, but not quickly enough.

Determination hardened inside Quinn. His father would have expected Quinn to protect his mother, not to bury himself in his own grief. But he hadn’t, and now it looked as if Gwen Forrester, with her naive belief in people and her tempting little nest egg, was falling prey to a charming drifter who had no visible means of support and a murky background. Well, not if he could prevent it.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her sudden pallor gave the lie to the words.

He shook his head. “I think you do. I want to know what’s going on between my mother and your father.”

The unexpected introduction of her father into the conversation sent Ellie’s heart racing. What had Charles Wayne done now? Familiar panic flooded her. She’d known it spelled trouble when he showed up at her door after all these years. She should have told him to go away. She should have…

She took a grip on her frightened thoughts. This was ridiculous. She was overreacting. Something about Quinn Forrester’s uncompromising expression had panicked her unnecessarily.

“I don’t understand.” She could only hope it came out calmly enough—that he hadn’t seen that moment of fear.

Quinn leaned against the display table with what was probably meant to be a casual air. It didn’t succeed. Nothing about his intensity was casual.

“It’s not that difficult a question.” He concentrated on her face as if he’d look right past her expression and into her mind. “What’s going on between my mother and your father?”

“Going on?” She stared at him blankly. “Nothing. I mean, they hardly know each other. Why would you think something was going on?”

He moved toward her, bracing his hand against the worn wooden counter. He was too close, invading her space. She forced herself not to step back, knowing instinctively he’d interpret that as a sign of weakness.

“From what I’ve heard…” he began, when a yellow blur soared to the countertop next to him. Quinn snatched his hand back with a startled exclamation.

“Sorry.” She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her stampeding pulse. “That’s Hannibal. You’re encroaching on his favorite place.”

As this man was with her. This was her shop, she reminded herself. Her town, her place in the world. She belonged here now. She stroked the tomcat. Hannibal pushed his head firmly against her hand and then sat, folding front paws majestically under his white bib.

“I saw him in the window. I thought he was a stuffed toy.” Quinn held out his hand. Hannibal sniffed cautiously, then deigned to let himself be scratched behind the ear.

She took another deep breath. Calm down. Don’t overreact. Whatever Quinn wanted, it didn’t necessarily have to be bad. She watched as he stroked the cat, giving it the same concentration he had her.

Quinn’s daughter must have gotten her red hair and freckles from some other part of the family tree. His hair was a dark, rich shade of brown, the color of ripe chestnuts. Straight dark brows contrasted with surprisingly light eyes—not quite blue, closer to slate. His tanned skin and the feathering of sun lines around his eyes suggested years of outdoor work in a place far from this green Pennsylvania valley. He had a firm mouth and an even firmer chin that argued an uncompromising disposition.

He switched his gaze from the cat to her, and a little quiver of awareness touched her. That intent gaze was unnerving. It was much the same as the gaze with which Hannibal watched a bird before he pounced.

“As I was saying, about my mother and your father.”

“Gwen is my friend.” She hurried into speech, hoping to deflect whatever accusation was coming. “And my father is here for a visit. A brief visit,” she added. “Naturally they’ve met each other.”

“Because you and my mother are friends.” His tone made it sound sinister.

She held her gaze steady with an effort. “Yes.”

“It’s a little more than that, I think.” His concentration pinned her to the spot. “Each time I talk to Kristie on the phone, his name comes up. ‘Charles and Grandma did this. Charles and Grandma did that.’ He seems to have become almost part of the family in the last few weeks.”

Her mind raced. When had all this been going on? She’d been busy, of course, but she should have known what her father was doing. Maybe she’d just felt relieved he’d found something to occupy himself in Bedford Creek. That way she didn’t have to see him and constantly be reminded of the painful past.

“As I said, Gwen and I are working on the fund-raiser together.” She hoped her smile looked more convincing than it felt. “My father has been helping out, so I suppose he and Gwen have spent some time together.”

“Some time?”

His persistence sparked the anger that had been hidden beneath her fear. “This is beginning to sound like an inquisition.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “I have a right to worry about my family’s welfare.”

Meaning he thought she and her father threatened it. She stiffened, meeting his eyes with as much defiance as she could muster. “Your family isn’t in danger from us.”

“When my sixty-five-year-old mother starts acting like a schoolgirl with a new boyfriend, I worry. Try hard. Maybe you’ll understand.”

The temper she’d fought to control escaped. “I can’t imagine when you had the chance to observe your mother. You’ve hardly been back in Bedford Creek in the past few years.”

His fists clenched, and she saw in an instant she’d gone too far. She knew about the death of his wife, of course. She’d barely become acquainted with Julie when the woman’s death in a car accident had shocked the whole town. In the two years or so since, according to Gwen, Quinn had buried himself in his work, as if to find escape. Now she’d challenged that.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, before the situation could deteriorate any further. “I didn’t mean that. And I certainly didn’t have the right to say it.”

“My work has kept me away.” He said it calmly enough, but a muscle quivered in his jaw with the effort. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

She seemed to be juggling dynamite. “I’m sure you do. But Gwen…” She hesitated on the verge of pointing out the obvious—that Gwen was a grown woman who could manage her own life.

His gaze hardened, and she suspected he knew what she’d been about to say. “My mother’s led a sheltered life. My father always protected her from any unpleasantness.”

A spasm of memory clutched her. She’d led a fairly sheltered life, too, once upon a time, until her father’s betrayal had blown it into a million pieces. If Charles really was somehow involved with Gwen, it was probably the worst idea he’d had since that disaster.

She wouldn’t believe it. Quinn was probably overreacting, but she knew instinctively he’d be a bad enemy to make. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him any more than she already had.

“My father is just here for a brief visit. He regards Gwen as nothing more than a casual acquaintance.” She hoped.

His frown was uncompromising. “If there’s anything more—”

The jingling of the bell cut off what sounded like a threat. Ellie turned toward the door, and her heart sank. Why on earth had her father chosen this particular moment to come into the shop?

She glanced cautiously back at Quinn, and tension zigzagged like lightning along her nerves. He looked like a predator about to strike.

Quinn looked from Ellie’s suddenly guilty face to the man who’d just entered. So this was the father—it had to be. Why else would she look that way? He’d almost been swayed by her protestations, but now all his suspicions flooded back.

“Sorry, my dear. I didn’t realize you were busy with a customer.” Charles Wayne stood, hand on the doorknob, his expression mingling regret at interrupting with curiosity.

“I’m just closing,” Ellie said. “Maybe you could set the table for supper.”

She gestured toward the stairs at the rear of the shop, which must lead to the living quarters upstairs. Her desire to get her father out of his range was as clear as if she wore a sign announcing it.

He didn’t intend to let that happen, not until he’d had a chance to see the man for himself. He took a step forward, holding out his hand. “You must be Ellie’s father. I’m Quinn Forrester.”

“Charles Wayne. What a pleasure to meet you. You’re Gwen’s son, of course. She talks about you all the time.”

His smile was smoother than his daughter’s, more practiced. He had to be in his sixties, but he had a quick, light step that made him look younger, as did the sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Gwen mentioned you were home when I ran into her and little Kristie at the grocer’s,” he went on. “A delightful child, isn’t she?”

It was the trick of either a good salesman or a confidence man—to ask a question that would bring an affirmative answer. “I think so, but then I’m prejudiced.”

And prejudiced against the man in front of him, he realized. Maybe it was the ready smile, or the glib chatter, but Charles Wayne put his back up. He preferred the daughter’s quick antagonism to the father’s charm.

“Dad.” Ellie nodded toward the stairs. “I have soup in the slow cooker for our supper.”

“Then we can have it anytime,” Wayne said, apparently oblivious to her desire to get rid of him. He smiled at Quinn. “I believe Gwen told me you’re working out west someplace.”

“Oregon. I’m with the Corps of Engineers.” He’d like to tell the man his profession was none of his business, but that wasn’t the way to find out about more about him. He’d already come within a hair of outright war with the daughter. Maybe it was time to take a step back. His mother wouldn’t be inclined to listen to his concerns if he started by alienating her friends. “Are you familiar with the West Coast?”

“Been there, of course. Now, this little town where my daughter’s settled is a far cry from our old stamping grounds.”

The tension emanating from Ellie jerked upward, evidenced by the indrawn breath, the tightening of her hands. So, there was something about that mention of where they were from that bothered her.

“And where was that?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard much about Ellie’s past.”

“I don’t find people all that interested in my history.” Ellie’s casual tone wasn’t very convincing.

“Odd, isn’t it? People’s stories are endlessly fascinating to me,” Charles said. “There was a man I met when I was working in San Francisco, or was it Santa Fe? Doesn’t matter. In any event, this man had actually taken part in a Mount Everest climb. Think of that.”

Quinn didn’t intend to be distracted by mythical mountain climbers. “You were saying you’d lived where?”

Charles gave an airy wave. “All over the place. I’m afraid I’m the original tumbleweed. Just haven’t been able to settle down in one place, unlike my daughter.” He smiled fondly at Ellie, who looked strained. “Ellen has certainly put down roots here in Bedford Creek. Not that it isn’t a charming place, but it’s not the life I expected her to have.”

“People have to make their own decisions about things like that.” Ellie took his arm firmly and turned him toward the stairs. “I’ll be up soon, Dad. How about checking the soup for me?”

“Of course, of course.” Charles glanced over his shoulder at Quinn. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again. We must talk longer the next time.”

If Ellie ever wanted to embark on a life of crime, Quinn decided, she’d have to do something about that expressive face. It showed only too clearly her relief at having gotten rid of her gregarious father and her conviction that he and Quinn wouldn’t be having any more little talks.

Ellie glanced pointedly toward the exit. “I should be closing now.”

I’m not as easy to be rid of as all that, he assured her silently. “Your father’s quite the charmer, isn’t he? I can see how my mother might find him entertaining company.”

He had a sudden longing for his own father’s solid, quiet presence. No one would have used charming or entertaining to describe John Forrester, but he’d been a man of strength and integrity.

“My father’s charming to everyone.” She smiled tightly. “It’s his way. I don’t think you need to worry that Gwen is susceptible to it. She’s got a level head on her shoulders.”

“You think so? I love my mother dearly, but levelheaded is the last thing I’d say about her. My father was always the dependable one in the family.”

She lifted her eyebrows, as if doubting his assessment. “And now Rebecca is, I suppose.”

Guilt stabbed at him. Since his father’s death Rebecca had taken on the duty that should have been his. Their other sister, Angela, had married, then gone off to Philadelphia when her husband’s business sent him there. And Quinn had been so preoccupied with the twin burdens of his career and his grief that he’d let Rebecca handle everything.

Not anymore, he promised, not sure whether he was talking to himself or his father. It was time he took on the responsibilities he’d shelved for too long.

“Rebecca has enough to do with her husband, the clinic and a baby on the way. If my mother needs anything, I’ll be the one to help her.”

He wasn’t sure whether anger or fear predominated in the look she gave him. “I’m sure she appreciates that,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meal to get ready.”

He clearly wasn’t going to get anything more from Ellie at this point, so he let himself be ushered to the door. Her relief was almost palpable when he finally set foot outside.

He stopped, hand on the door to keep her from closing it. “Where was it your father said the two of you were from?”

“Ohio,” she snapped, and closed the door so sharply he had to snatch his hand away.

Ellie wasn’t the accomplished storyteller he suspected her father was. That had had the ring of truth about it.

He watched as she flipped the Closed sign into place. She went toward the stairs, so quickly she might almost have been running away. The yellow cat leaped into the window, stared unblinkingly at him for a long moment and then turned and followed his mistress.

If he’d gone to Ellie Wayne’s shop seeking assurance that everything was all right, he’d come away knowing the opposite was true. And it wasn’t his adverse reaction to Charles Wayne that had convinced him. He could chalk that up to personal taste.

No, he’d been convinced by Ellie’s reactions. Ellie Wayne was afraid. Of him? Of something to do with her father? He wasn’t sure, just as he wasn’t sure of a lot of things about her.

She’d lived in Bedford Creek for close to five years. She’d become an accepted part of the town. But as far as he could tell, no one knew much about her life before she came here. And people knew even less about her father.

It was time that changed, and he intended to change it.

Chapter Two

“Ms. Ellie, do you really think God answers prayers?”

Ellie decided she’d never get used to small children’s ways of asking the deepest spiritual questions. She sat down next to Quinn’s little daughter the next morning. The rest of her Sunday school class had scampered out the door already, but Kristie had lingered, the question obviously on her mind.

“Yes, I think God does answer prayers.” She brushed a coppery curl back from Kristie’s cheek, sending up a silent plea for guidance. “But I think sometimes we don’t understand God’s answers.”

Kristie frowned, putting both hands on the low wooden table. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your prayer,” she suggested. “Maybe I can help you understand.”

Kristie’s rosebud mouth pursed in an unconscious imitation of her grandmother’s considering look. “Well, see, I prayed just like you taught us. And I remembered to thank God and everything.”

Their last few lessons had been on prayer. Kristie, at least, had been listening. “And what else?” she prompted gently.

“I asked God to make Daddy stay here for good.” The words burst out. “And I thought it would work. But when I asked him, Daddy said he has to go out West again. And I don’t want him to!”

Ellie drew the child close, heart hurting. Did Quinn realize how much his little girl missed him, even though a loving family surrounded her?

“Kristie, I know I said God answers our prayers, and I believe that.” She spoke slowly. Caring for the spiritual well-being of the children in her class was one of the most important things she’d ever do, and she wanted to do it right.

“But God knows what’s best for us. Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no. And sometimes the answer is wait.” She smiled into the little face turned up to hers so trustingly. “I think that’s the hardest answer of all, because I hate to wait for things. But I remind myself that God loves me and wants what’s best for me. Do you think you could remember that, too?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m sure she will.”

The unexpected masculine voice jolted her. Quinn stood in the doorway, and he’d obviously been listening for some time. Her cheeks flushed. Had he heard what Kristie’s prayer was about? And was he angry that she presumed to give his daughter advice?

“Daddy!” Kristie raced across the room to throw her arms around his waist. “Are you going to church with me?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He gave her a quick hug, his face softening as he looked down at her.

Ellie’s heart cramped. When he smiled at his daughter, the lines in Quinn’s face disappeared. The marks of grief and bitterness were magically erased, and he looked again like the college graduate in the picture on Gwen’s piano, smiling at the world as if he owned it.

“You run down to the parlor and catch up with Grandma, okay? I want to talk to your teacher for a minute.”

Kristie nodded, the clouds gone from her face, and danced toward the door. “We’ll wait for you,” she said importantly. “Don’t be late.”

Yesterday it had been his mother; today it was his daughter. Quinn Forrester must feel she’d interfered with his family far too much.

Quickly, before he could launch an attack, Ellie shoved the Sunday school books onto the shelf. “I’m afraid I don’t have time now.” She started for the door. “I’m playing the organ for the service, and I have to get ready.”

But if she thought she was going to get rid of him that easily, apparently she was mistaken. He fell into step beside her. A dark suit, pale blue shirt and striped tie had replaced yesterday’s jeans, but he still looked like a man who belonged outdoors. And he moved as if the church hallway were a mountain trail.

“I’ll walk with you, and we can talk on the way.” He pushed open the double doors that led from the Sunday school wing to the church itself, his hand strong and tanned against the pale wood.

Maybe it was time to go on the offensive with him. “I suppose you think I shouldn’t have spoken that way to your daughter.” She certainly wouldn’t apologize for doing what a church school teacher should.

Instead of counterattacking, Quinn tilted his head slightly as if considering. “No, I wouldn’t say I think that. You’re her Sunday school teacher. That’s your job, answering the tough questions.”

His unexpected agreement took the wind out of her sails, and she glanced up to meet his steady gaze. For now, at least, it wasn’t accusing. “The questions are tough. Sometimes almost unanswerable.”

“What do you do if you don’t have an answer?” He really seemed curious.

She smiled. “Say so. Then I ask the pastor. That’s his job, after all.”

“I’m sure he appreciates that.”

She’d never have thought, after yesterday, that she and Quinn would be smiling at each other in perfect harmony. The tension inside her eased. They’d gotten off to a difficult start, but perhaps they could begin again. She didn’t want to be on uncomfortable terms with Gwen’s son.

They reached the vestry before she could think of anything else to say. Was that all Quinn wanted to talk with her about?

She reached into the closet and took out the shoes she wore for playing the pipe organ. She held them for a moment, waiting for him to speak, wondering if she should say anything more about Kristie.

When the silence stretched out, she looked up at him. “I guess you overheard what Kristie’s prayer was about.”

He nodded, a muscle flickering near his mouth, but he didn’t say anything.

She took a deep breath. This was definitely not her business, but she couldn’t ignore Kristie’s prayers. “I don’t know much about your job, but I know she’d love it if you could work closer.”

Quinn’s expression closed to a stiff, impenetrable mask. “That’s not possible. I go where the Corps of Engineers sends me. Unlike your father, I’m not a gentleman of leisure.”

Her stomach clenched. There was the counterattack she’d expected. “My father is retired.” She forced the words out through suddenly stiff lips.

Quinn leaned toward her, making her aware of how tiny the vestry was. He was much too close, and he took up all the available space. “What is he retired from?”

She turned away, slipping on her shoes, buying time. So the battle wasn’t over between them. His brief friendliness had evaporated, and he wanted answers she had no intention of giving him.

A tremor of fear shivered through her. If anyone in Bedford Creek knew the truth about her father, everyone would know. And if they did, the love and acceptance she’d grown to count on would vanish in an instant. She’d be alone again.

She straightened slowly and looked at Quinn. If she were a better liar, she might be able to throw him off the track, but she suspected that was impossible. “Business,” she said crisply.

She hurried through the door to the organ loft, knowing she was running away from him, knowing, too, that it was futile. Quinn Forrester wasn’t the kind of man to give up easily. He wanted the truth, but if he got it, he could destroy her happiness.

Quinn stood frowning after her for a moment. He’d like to pursue her and drag some answers out of her, but he couldn’t. The opening notes already echoed from Grace Church’s elderly pipe organ. Where had Ellie trained? That was yet another thing he didn’t know about her.

He walked back through the hallway to the parlor. It was surprising how little the people in Bedford Creek seemed to know about Ellie Wayne. Even his mother, who was usually a clearinghouse of local information, only seemed to know tidbits: that she’d worked in a craft shop in Philadelphia; that her mother died when she was young; that she was an only child. Hardly the kind of information Bedford Creek usually amassed about newcomers.

And as far as Charles Wayne was concerned, the slate was even blanker, if possible. That was what had upset his sister enough to make her call him. No one knew anything, according to Rebecca, except that he was Ellie’s father. He’d never visited her before; no one had ever heard her speak of him; he’d arrived by bus and didn’t seem to have a car. A man whose background was that vague must have something to hide.

Quinn entered the parlor, trying to push his concern to the back of his mind. At least Gwen would be safely separated from Charles Wayne for the next hour. After church, like it or not, he’d have the private talk with her that she’d managed to avoid for the last two days.

His mother and Kristie waited with Rebecca and her husband. He put his arm around Rebecca, kissing her cheek.

“How’s my little sister?” He looked at her closely. “Kind of washed-out these days, aren’t you?” He sent a mock glare in Brett’s direction. “Have you been working her too hard at the clinic?” He knew Rebecca loved her work as a physician’s assistant at the town clinic, especially since her husband was the doctor she assisted. Together they took care of the whole town.

Brett Elliot grinned, holding up both hands in surrender. “Not me, I promise. Blame your new little niece or nephew.”

“Speaking of which…” Rebecca’s face seemed tinged with green. She shook her head and rushed off in the direction of the rest room.

“What’s wrong with Aunt Rebecca?” Kristie pulled at Brett’s sleeve. “Is she sick?”

“Sometimes ladies have upset tummies when they’re going to have a baby,” Brett said easily while Quinn was still considering how to answer that question. Thank goodness for a doctor in the family. “I’ll see if she feels like staying or wants to go home. Catch you later.”

The choir passed them, heading into the choir loft, and Kristie grabbed his hand. “Come on, Daddy. I want to get a story paper before they’re all gone.”

He let himself be drawn toward the sanctuary and followed his mother and daughter into the pew, automatically tensing. He glanced at his mother. Did she have the same thoughts he did each time he entered this space?

Kaleidoscopic images flowed into each other—standing at the communion table for his confirmation, holding Julie’s hand while they said their vows, watching his sisters get married. Unfortunately the happy images were swamped by the sad ones of sitting in the front pew looking bleakly at his father’s coffin and then, too soon, at Julie’s. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat, and concentrated on the arrangements of roses on either side of the chancel.

A flutter of movement at the end of the pew distracted him, and he watched with disbelief as his mother half stood to wave to Charles Wayne. In another moment she’d beckoned the man to join them, and Wayne was sliding into the pew next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The organ sounded the notes of the opening hymn, and he stood, seething silently. So much for his assumptions about the way this morning would go. He sent his mother a look that he hoped conveyed his feelings, and she smiled back blandly, as if she enjoyed disconcerting him.

He tried to concentrate on the service, tried not to be distracted by Charles’s presence in the family pew or by memories of the past. It wasn’t easy.

Kristie pinched his arm, and he leaned over for her soft whisper. “Ms. Ellie plays pretty, doesn’t she?”

He nodded. The organ was half-hidden by the pulpit, but he could see Ellie when she leaned forward. Her dark hair curled around her face as her hands moved to the organ stops. Her expression unexpectedly touched him. She was transported; that was all he could think.

His gaze lingered on the line of her cheek, the soft smile that curved her lips. If not for the problem posed by her father, he might be thinking how attractive she was. Not his type, but appealing, with her vivid coloring and quick grace.

In an instant he rejected the thought, appalled at himself. The pain of Julie’s death at the hands of a drunk driver was with him every day, even after two years. On the job, preoccupied with work, he managed to hold it at bay.

But here in Bedford Creek, where they’d married, where she’d chosen to live when the corps sent him out West, it wasn’t possible. Each time he came home he had to mount a guard against the sudden onslaught of memory, pain, anger.

He’d thought the anger would go away once the driver was in prison where he belonged, but that hadn’t happened. Instead it had stayed, burning at the back of his mind, singeing his very soul.

He forced himself to pay attention to the message. Just concentrate, and the service will soon be over. He’d take his mother and daughter home, then sit his mother down for a serious talk about the danger to a well-off, naive widow posed by glib strangers.

The last Amen sounded, and he tried to hustle his little party toward the door. But at least half the congregation wanted to greet him, and he couldn’t be rude, even though the sight of Charles lingering at his mother’s side sent his blood pressure rising.

With a sense of relief he saw Ellie heading toward them, shedding her robe as she came. She’d probably detach her father.

“Ellie, dear, that was lovely.” His mother hugged her, then turned to him. “Wasn’t it lovely, Quinn?”

He felt about eight years old, being prompted by his mother to say the right thing. “Beautiful. You play very well. Where did you study?”

“Here and there.” She caught her father’s arm, tugging it a bit. “Come on, Dad, time to go home.”

“But you’re not going home,” his mother exclaimed. “I’ve already talked to Charles, and it’s all settled. You and your father are coming to Sunday dinner with us.”

To do her justice, Ellie looked just about as appalled at that suggestion as he must. “That’s very nice of you, Gwen, but I’m afraid we have to get home.”

“Nonsense,” his mother said briskly, linking her arm with Ellie’s. “I know you haven’t started dinner yet, and I have a pot roast cooking that’s just about ready. We insist you come, don’t we, Quinn?”

In other circumstances, this would be comic. Ellie clearly didn’t want to come, any more than he wanted her to. Just as clearly, they were both stuck.

“Please join us,” he said.

Ellie shot him one wary look, and then she nodded. Like it or not, the Forresters and the Waynes were having Sunday dinner together. Maybe this was his chance to get closer to her. He frowned. That should not be making him feel anticipation.

“Dad, please. Before we get there, you have to tell me about you and Gwen.” Ellie turned onto the street where the Forresters lived, her stomach tightening. They’d be there in moments, and she still hadn’t gotten a satisfactory answer from her father.

She felt him studying her face and kept her eyes on the road. “Princess, I…”

“Don’t call me that!” The nickname took her relentlessly back to the past, to a time when she really had felt like a princess—pampered, sheltered, a popular figure in the social scene of their small Ohio city.

Foolish, she added. Living in a dream world that was bound to crash. It had crashed, all right, in a scandal that took away everything she knew.

She took a deep breath and managed to glance at him. He looked hurt.

“I know you weren’t happy to see me here, Ellen. I know I let you down. But I’m a different person now.”

“I hope so.” She did hope it, with all her heart. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to tell him to go away when he’d turned up after all these years, even though common sense said he’d only bring trouble.

“I’ve changed,” he said, eagerness coloring his voice. “Believe me, prison changes a person.”

“Don’t.” The word came out involuntarily. “Don’t, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, Pr—Ellen, we have to.”

“No, we don’t.” She pulled the car to the curb. “Just promise me you won’t do anything to make Quinn Forrester suspicious of you. More suspicious than he already is.”

“I told you, Gwen and I are just friends. I find her charming.” He glanced into the rearview mirror, straightening the blue tie that matched his eyes.

Charming. Plenty of people had used that word about Charles Wayne, including his daughter. Until the day he was arrested for embezzlement, leaving her bereft and alone, bankrupting herself in a futile attempt to pay off his debts.

There was no time to think about that now, not with Gwen already opening the front door of the rambling Victorian house. Her father took her arm as they got out of the car, and she felt a brief moment’s pleasure in his courteous manners.

“I don’t care who knows the truth, you know,” he said quietly.

Panic shot through her. “Well, I do.” She stopped on the walk, turning to face him, and spoke in a furious whisper. “I still feel the pain of what happened back in Winstead when people knew the truth. It took me a long time to find a place where I belong again, and I won’t let you ruin it.”

He nodded, and for an instant she almost imagined she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. That was impossible. Charles Wayne took everything in life far too lightly to be brought to tears by her.

“I won’t do anything to hurt you, Ellie. You can count on me.”

She held back a despairing sigh. She’d counted on him before, and then found out he was living a lie.

“Come right in.” Gwen waved them into the wide center hall of the gracious old house, and Kristie danced forward to hug Ellie. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Let me help you, Gwen.” She was uncomfortably aware of Quinn, standing silent behind his mother. He’d shed his jacket and tie and should have looked relaxed. Instead he looked unyielding. He was only too obviously not joining in the welcome.

“No, no, it’s all under way. But I did want to show you those notes about the craft fair. Now where did I put them?” Gwen looked around, her soft rosy face puzzled, as if the papers should spring into her hand.

“You had them on the coffee table, I think,” Quinn said. “Why don’t you and Ellie take a look at them, and I’ll see to things in the kitchen.” His smile carried nothing of amusement in it. “Charles can help me.”

Ellie had another moment of panic at the thought of her father alone with that formidable personality, but before she could say anything, Gwen swept Charles toward the kitchen, taking Kristie with them.

“You show Ellie where those notes are, dear. Charles and Kristie will help me.”

The kitchen door swung shut, and Ellie thought she heard Quinn grind his teeth in exasperation. Then he gestured toward the living room.

“In here. I think that’s where she left them.”

She was uncomfortably aware of his tall figure looming over her as she glanced through the notes Gwen had made about the craft fair arrangements. She didn’t want to look up at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was frowning, and his gray eyes had taken on the glint of steel. Her heart thumped, and she braced herself for another question about her father.

“It sounds as if you and my mother have taken on a big project.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she realized he meant the craft fair.

“We’re cochairing it for the church fund-raising committee. The pipe organ desperately needs a complete overhaul, and we’re trying to raise the money.”

She’d much rather talk about the fund-raising project than her father, although maybe in the end it came back to the same thing. She’d conceived the idea of the craft show as a way of repaying her church family for their kindness and acceptance. And she wouldn’t have been so desperately in need of that kindness if it hadn’t been for her father. But Quinn couldn’t know any of that.

She had a crazy desire to laugh at the situation. She was no more eager to see her father involved with Gwen than Quinn was, for several very good reasons. But she couldn’t risk ever letting Quinn know why.

“I guess, as the organist, you have a vested interest in that.”

She nodded. “It’s a fine old instrument, but nothing more than basic maintenance has been done for years. I say a prayer each time I touch it that the mice haven’t nibbled on anything crucial.”

“You never did tell me where you studied.” He slid the comment in casually, but his expression was watchful.

She suppressed a sigh. Quinn wasn’t going to give up easily, that was clear, and he wouldn’t be content with the carefully crafted version of her past she usually gave when pressed. Somehow she had to convince him that her father didn’t represent a threat to his mother.

“Actually I started piano lessons when I was about Kristie’s age. I didn’t get interested in the organ until I belonged to a church in Philadelphia. The organist took me under his wing and taught me.”

She sent up a brief, thankful prayer for the elderly man who’d shared more than his love of music. He’d shared his love of God, and his profound faith had brought her out of the spiritual low she’d been trapped in after her father’s conviction.

“He meant a lot to you,” Quinn said quietly.

“Yes, he did.” She stopped on the verge of saying he’d given her back her faith. Quinn didn’t merit that kind of confidence from her. She was giving too much away, and he was too observant.

She looked up at him, trying to find something light to say, something that would take them away from dangerous personal ground. She realized in an instant she’d made a mistake. He stood very close to her, watching her intently. That single-minded focus of his was disconcerting. It robbed her of the ability to think.

Quinn frowned, his eyes darkening as their gazes held and they were silent too long. Awareness shimmered between them. Her breath caught. She shouldn’t be feeling anything for Quinn. She couldn’t. Of all the men in the world, he was the last one she should feel anything at all for.

Chapter Three

“Daddy, Grandma says dinner’s ready.” Kristie skipped to them and took Ellie’s hand, breaking the spell that held them immobile. “She says I can sit next to you, Ms. Ellie. Okay?”

“That sounds great, Kristie.” Feeling released, she turned away from Quinn.

She had to keep her mind on the problem, she lectured herself as Kristie led her across the hall to the dining room.

“Right here,” Kristie said, pulling out a chair at the side of the oval mahogany table.

Ellie nodded, slipping into the seat, and then she realized Kristie wasn’t the one pushing it in for her. Quinn’s hand brushed her shoulder lightly as he settled the chair, and his touch both startled and warmed her. Then he rounded the table to his own seat. Directly opposite her, she saw with a sinking heart.

He sat down, unfolded his napkin, and his gaze met hers over the bowl of zinnias in the middle of the table. How on earth could she concentrate on anything else with him staring at her?

“The roast smells wonderful,” she said, wondering how she’d manage to taste it.

“My daddy’s favorite,” Kristie announced. “We always have his favorite when he comes.” Using two hands, she carefully passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Ellie. “Do you like roast and mashed potatoes, Ms. Ellie?” She looked unaccountably anxious.

“Of course.” She took a spoonful, feeling her stomach tighten. This couldn’t possibly be a peaceful meal, not with her father beaming at Gwen and Quinn looking like a dam about to burst.

The conversation, accompanied by the clinking of silverware on china, didn’t reassure her. Quinn probed into her father’s past. Charles parried the questions with his customary skill, but her tension rose with every question, every comment.

How long would it be before her father said too much? She knew how he loved to talk. If he got started on any of his familiar stories, he’d give something away to a listener as acute as Quinn.

“You’re going to be here for the craft fair, aren’t you, Quinn?” Gwen must have decided that a change of subject was in order. “I’m counting on you to help us out with it.”

“I guess so.” His gaze turned inward, as if he consulted a mental calendar. “I’m on leave from the project for a month.”

Gwen pouted prettily. “You and that project. There’s always a new one. This is the first decent vacation you’ve taken in two years. I’m sure there are plenty of jobs for engineers here in Pennsylvania.”

“I have to go where the corps sends me. The work we’re doing is important.” Quinn sent his mother a quelling look.

“Why don’t you work here, Daddy?” Kristie took up the offensive. “Then you could come home every night. You could coach my soccer team, and we could go fishing and you could help with Bible school.”

Quinn looked a bit harassed, and Ellie had to smile. Maybe coping with his daughter’s wishes would distract him from her father.

“Honey, I can’t do that. Not right now. Let’s just enjoy my leave, okay? Hey, we haven’t talked about your birthday yet, and it’ll be here before you know it. Have you decided what you want?”

He wasn’t quite as skilled as her father in changing the subject when it got uncomfortable, but he’d probably improve with practice. She found herself wanting to tell him to answer his daughter’s question, and reminded herself it was none of her business.

Kristie tipped her head to one side, considering the question. “I want a chocolate cake,” she said firmly. “With white icing and lots of sprinkles.”

“We can probably manage that,” Quinn said.

“And a party with Ms. Ellie and her daddy.” She tilted her head toward Ellie. “You’ll come, won’t you? Please?”

Ellie tried not to look at Quinn, knowing what she’d see in his eyes. “If we get an invitation.” He undoubtedly wanted her to make an excuse, but she wouldn’t lie to the child.

“What about your present?” Quinn’s voice was even, but she could detect tension underneath. “A little bird told me you were thinking about a two-wheeler.”

Kristie giggled. “That wasn’t a little bird, Daddy. That was me!”

“Oh, yes, that’s where I heard it. So, what do you think? Is it going to be a bicycle?”

She shook her head decisively. “I decided there’s something I want even more.”

Quinn looked surprised, and Ellie wondered if he’d already picked out a bicycle. A six-year-old’s wants tended to change from moment to moment, but Kristie would probably be delighted with whatever her father gave her.

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell.” Kristie wrinkled her nose. “Do you think it’s sort of like wishing on your candles? I mean, if you want something really, really bad, maybe you’ll get it if you don’t tell.”

“If you don’t tell,” Ellie pointed out, “Daddy won’t know where to buy it.”

“He doesn’t have to buy it!” For some reason, Kristie thought that was hilarious.

A spasm of apprehension crossed Quinn’s face. “Even so, sweetheart, I think you’d better tell me.”

Kristie considered a moment, then nodded. “Well, see, it’s something I was praying about. Ms. Ellie taught us about praying in Sunday school. And she said that God always answers, but sometimes He has to say no.” She turned to Ellie. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Now she was the one who was apprehensive, Ellie thought as she nodded. What on earth had she said that played into Kristie’s birthday wish?

“So I decided I’d ask for it for my birthday,” Kristie said confidently. “I always get what I want for my birthday, and if I do that and pray, too, I’m sure to get it.”

“I don’t think…” Ellie began, then fell silent when Quinn frowned at her.

“So what is it you want?” Quinn looked afraid to find out.

Kristie smiled confidently. “I want you to get married so I can have a mommy. Then you’ll come home to stay.”

“So, do you think you understand now?” Quinn concentrated on his daughter, seated between him and Ellie on the back porch swing. He tried to ignore the way Ellie’s arm curved around Kristie, the way her hand brushed his as she patted the child.

Think about your daughter, he lectured himself. Not about Ellie Wayne, no matter how attractive she is.

Now where had that come from? He was not attracted to Ellie. Her hair tickled his shoulder, escaping as usual from its band, and the faint scent of roses teased his senses, mingling with the spicy aroma of his mother’s marigolds. It looked as if he’d have to keep reminding himself he wasn’t.

They’d just tried to explain to Kristie the difference between prayer and birthday wishes, and he still wasn’t sure they’d succeeded. Maybe he’d have been better off doing this without Ellie, but he felt she carried some of the responsibility.

“I guess so.” Kristie looked up at him with trust shining in her eyes. “But that’s still what I want for my birthday, okay?”

He tried to suppress a sigh of exasperation. “Kristie…” he began, but she slid off the swing and patted his knee like a little mother.

“It’s okay, Daddy. You think about it. I’ll go help Grandma with dessert while you decide.”

She danced across the porch, her white sundress flitting around her. The screen door slammed behind her.

He looked at Ellie. Her expressive face was perfectly grave, but he thought a trace of amusement lurked in her dark eyes.

“I suppose you think this is funny.”

Her dimple showed. “Maybe just a bit. She is one very determined little girl. I wonder from whom she inherited that quality?”

She had a point there, though he hated to admit it. Certainly Julie had never been that way. Julie had been sweet, dependent, passive. But never determined.

“Do your spiritual lessons with six-year-olds always end up like this?” He firmly lobbed the ball back into Ellie’s court.

Her expression clouded. “I hope not. I take it very seriously, and I try to put things in terms children can understand. But you just never know how they’re going to interpret what you say.”

“To an engineer, precision is crucial.”

“Even when you’re dealing with a six-year-old?”

“Especially when you’re dealing with a six-year-old like mine.” He frowned. Did he really have a clue what Kristie needed anymore? “I already ordered the bicycle. It’s hidden over at Brett and Rebecca’s house. Bright blue, with streamers on the handlebars.”

“She’ll love it. Really.” She reached toward him, almost as if she wanted to comfort him. Then, just as quickly, she drew her hand back, apparently thinking the better of it. “I’m sure she knows you want what’s best for her.”

“I hope so.” He looked at her, weighing the caring that shone in those bright eyes. He’d like to believe that was genuine. Unfortunately he couldn’t ignore the instinct that told him she was hiding something. “I want what’s best for my mother, too.”

She knew immediately what he was talking about. He could see that in her sudden wariness. Her expression clouded, and she looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Your mother seems to be perfectly happy with her life.”

“You look at her as a friend,” he said, trying to ignore the way her dark hair curled against the sunshine yellow of her dress. “At least I hope so. I look at her as the mother who’s always been protected.”

She bit her lower lip for an instant, then seemed to come to a decision. Her gaze met his with a certain amount of defiance. “I’ve already told you that she and my father are just friends.”

“Are they?” After his mother’s performance this morning at church, he couldn’t believe that.

“Yes.” She said it so firmly that he thought she was trying to convince herself. “And if it’s any satisfaction to you, I don’t want to see anything else between them, any more than you do.”

“Why?” He shot the word at her.

For an instant she looked disconcerted. “Because…because my father will be leaving soon.” He sensed she edited her words carefully, and wondered what she’d say if she really spoke her mind. “I just don’t think it would work out.”

“That’s good, because I intend to make sure nothing happens between them.” He leaned closer, hearing the sudden catch of her breath at his nearness. They were so close he could see the fine vein tracing her temple, the curve of each dark lash. “And since you agree that a relationship between them is a bad idea, you can help me.”

“I don’t—I don’t think that’s necessary.” She drew back, setting the swing vibrating with her tension.

“I do.”

She started to rise, as if to escape him. He caught her hand, holding her still for an instant. He felt her skin grow warm against his palm.

“And I think you do, too,” he said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said that to him. But this time they both knew it wasn’t true. They seemed to be communicating through their linked hands. He felt the determination on his side and just as clearly felt the doubt and fear on hers.

Ellie’s eyes widened, telling him the same instinctive knowledge flooded her. The moment stretched, weighted and silent.

She twisted away from him in a sudden movement and hurried into the house, the screen door slamming behind her.

Quinn took a deep breath, looking down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. He wasn’t sure what had just happened here. Maybe Ellie didn’t know, either.

But one thing was very clear. He had to detach his mother from Ellie’s father, and he had to guard his own emotions while he did so. Because Ellie Wayne had just roused feelings in him he’d never thought to have for any woman again.

Everything was going to be all right. Ellie had told herself that a dozen times by the next morning, and she still wasn’t convinced. Her reaction to Quinn rattled her—she couldn’t deny that. She just hoped she hadn’t let him see how much.

She glanced around the Sunday school room, trying to focus on it instead of the shop. Her part-time help, young Janey Dean, would do fine without her for the mornings this week while she concentrated on vacation Bible school.

She’d pushed the tables to the side so she could set up a pretend camping area in the center for vacation Bible school. The kids would like that. Unfortunately thinking of the children made her think of Kristie, which led her thoughts right back to Kristie’s father.

She had to stop this. There was a simple solution to the problem presented by Quinn Forrester. She’d avoid him, and she’d make sure her father did the same.

She knew Quinn’s type, only too well. He might stay in Bedford Creek for a time, feeling guilty about his little girl. But then the need to achieve at his job would kick in, and before he even recognized what had happened, he’d be on his way back to the West Coast.

She bit her lip, thinking of Kristie. Lord, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I shouldn’t be hoping he goes away soon, not when his daughter wants so much for him to stay. But what can I do?

There didn’t seem to be any good answer to that question, and she suspected her prayers on the subject of Quinn had been a little self-serving.

She just had to stay away from him, she reminded herself firmly. Surely Bedford Creek was big enough to allow that. She’d stay away from him, and everything would work out fine.

The thunder of running feet announced the first arrivals for Bible school, and she turned her mind firmly toward her plans for the day.

Kristie bounced through the doorway with the earliest group, her small face beaming with pleasure. “We’re here!” she shouted.

We? Ellie’s heart thudded to her toes as Quinn appeared behind his daughter. He paused for a moment, his tall figure framed in the doorway. His faded jeans and white knit shirt were considerably less formal than the suit, dress shirt and tie he’d worn for church. Less formal, she found herself thinking, but not less attractive.

She forced a smile. “Good morning.” She turned to the children. “Wow, you’re here early. How would you like to help make a mural of Abraham’s sheep?”

Luckily everyone would. She got them started with markers on the newsprint background she’d already prepared and steadfastly refused to look at the doorway. He’d go away.

Several sheep later she glanced up, and her stomach clenched. Despite her hopes, Quinn was still there.

Leaving the young artists to their work, she approached him cautiously, realizing she was being ridiculous. He wasn’t going to start discussing their parents in the middle of Bible school.

“Kristie’s fine,” she said quietly.

“I can see that.” He didn’t move.

What was wrong with him? Didn’t he realize parents were supposed to drop the children off and go? “You can come back for her at noon.”

He arched his dark brows, as if in surprise. “Come back? I don’t need to come back. I’m staying.”

“Staying?” She couldn’t help the way her voice rose, and she made an effort to control it. She couldn’t let the children see what an undesirable effect Kristie’s father had on her. “Why? If you’re worried about Kristie adjusting to Bible school, you can see she’s fine.”

“No, of course I’m not worried about her. I know she loves coming here.” Quinn’s smile seemed tinged with a touch of malice. “In fact, she loves it so much she insisted I come along. She’s talked me into helping with Bible school, so we can be together all the time. I’m your new assistant.”

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