An Honest Life. Dana Corbit

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СКАЧАТЬ their new baby, and Tessa probably needed a little extra attention right now because of her changed status in the family.

      That was it. If she was busy ministering to several church families, she would be much too preoccupied to let her thoughts focus on one brooding man. The plan seemed pretty good, but for some reason, it still didn’t allow her to relax. In theory, it sounded perfect, but she worried it would fail woefully in practice.

      Chapter Four

      Rick stomped into his downtown Milford house, not even taking the time to wipe off his work boots as he usually did. A little dirt couldn’t harm the badly scarred hardwood floors he’d recently uncovered, but it seemed counterproductive to his restoration project to make things any worse. Today, though, he just didn’t care.

      He didn’t even take time to admire his handiwork on the newly refinished crown moldings and six-panel doors, glancing beyond their glossy mahogany to the rest of the nearly gutted structure. Everything was dark and drab—just the way he felt.

      Why couldn’t I just avoid her? Now that was the question of the day. He could probably spend another year trying to figure out the answer to it. But for whatever reason, the flower beds she tended—or the gardener herself—had diverted his interest from his own work until he finally had no choice but to talk to her.

      It was bad enough that he’d started round two in their featherweight matchup by mentioning the Westin baby. But then he’d made it worse by throwing her an uppercut to the chin for that sanctimonious-sounding comment about the baby being a gift from God. Every child was, and she hadn’t specifically singled that one out. But he’d been unable to resist the temptation to put her in her place, anyway.

      In his defense, a flimsy one at best, she had all but called him a “heathen” for working on the church project when he didn’t attend. He sure hadn’t done much to convince her otherwise, he thought, as he kicked aside a sealed can of wood stain.

      A real Christian should have been able to take the high road—to turn the other cheek, even—from her uninformed judgments. The thought halted him in kitchen doorway before he could step on the cracked, yellow linoleum. Just past the entry, Rick opened the junk drawer beneath the wall telephone and rustled through the mess until he connected with one of his most special possessions, an old Gideon’s New Testament, its cover reattached with the handyman’s solution to all problems: duct tape. If only he could move beyond just learning the Scriptures and begin to follow the lessons inside it.

      Conviction settled deep in his heart before he could tuck the Bible back in the drawer. Sure, Charity seemed to use Scripture as a weapon to protect her from whatever she was afraid of, but hadn’t he done the same thing? He was as guilty as she, playing her same judgmental game.

      Father, I’m having some trouble with this one. I’m sorry I’ve behaved so badly, but this Charity just gets under my skin. Please forgive me and give me patience for dealing with all difficult people.

      He paused long enough to open the refrigerator, pull out the fixings for a turkey with Swiss sandwich and set the armload on the tile countertop. “You know how sanctimonious she is,” he prayed aloud this time as he made the sandwich. “You know her….” He let his words trail off as a realization struck him again. “But I get the feeling she doesn’t know you.” His prayer ended without an “amen” as they would be talking more throughout the day.

      After downing the sandwich, Rick grabbed a sander and started smoothing the rough spots on the stripped hardwood. Focusing on the scrape of the sandpaper and the earthy scent of the fine wood dust, he hoped to extricate thoughts of Charity from his mind. But she only burrowed through his consciousness in layers not unlike those he uncovered in the old wood.

      Her face flashed before him again—the perfect, porcelain features and huge, almost golden eyes that showed every emotion from flattery to fury. He liked the former a lot better, especially combined with that girlish blush. And her small rosebud mouth…it sure contrasted with her penchant for speaking out of turn.

      When he saw her again—and he no longer held any illusions that he could avoid her for the duration of the project—he vowed to be nice to her. No matter how hard she made it. He would be a loving Christian example to her if it killed him, and if he needed to spend more time with her—say dinner—to make that point, then—

      “Knock it off.” His words bounced off the walls as he reached for his hammer and aimed for an errant nail, landing on his thumb instead. “Ow!”

      Could he have been attracted to Charity Sims? No, it couldn’t be that. But she did pull at him somehow. Maybe it was an emptiness he sensed beneath her religious armor. Or maybe he’d just imagined that to excuse some of his earlier behavior.

      Anyway, even if he was interested in her, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She looked down at him, at least for his beliefs. And if that didn’t matter to him, it just proved he’d spent way too many months—make that years—without as much as a coffee date.

      Were he to choose someone for a romantic relationship, she would be someone kind and pure-hearted like Rusty’s Tricia. Although Rusty had been young when they’d wed and had only become a man during their marriage, Tricia had stood steady by his side. Envious? Not at all. He was more amazed, really. Rusty and Tricia were the only couple he knew who contradicted his theory that true love, at least the romantic kind, didn’t exist.

      Why was he allowing himself to think those thoughts, anyway? About anyone, let alone someone like Charity Sims. He’d been on his own as long as he could remember. He liked being alone. Except for his relationship with God and, much later, Rusty, he had avoided the complications of friendships. It had been for the best.

      Needing people could be disastrous for a loner like him. It would only make him vulnerable—something he couldn’t allow. He could never again let himself be that lost child of his memories. The only way to avoid that was to rely only on the person beneath his own skin. He’d never needed anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now.

      Early Tuesday afternoon Rick perched two extra two-by-fours on his shoulder and headed back to the framed building. A noise to his right caught his attention, and he turned to see a familiar car coming up the drive. He didn’t have to look twice to recognize the driver, and he smiled against his will.

      “Here we go again,” he said, unloading his cargo onto the stack before glancing back at the parking lot.

      If the idea of another verbal sparring round with Charity bothered him so much, then he shouldn’t have been sauntering right to her, his heart tapping out Morse code in his chest. He reminded himself of a clown punching bag, the kind with sand in the bottom to keep it popping back up for more punishment.

      But his comparison didn’t stop him from stepping next to her car when she parked it and bending to speak into her open window. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. People will talk.”

      Her hair wasn’t tied back this time but flowed to her shoulder blades in a wavy mass. A crazy temptation to see if her tresses felt like silk had him tucking his thumbs safely through his tool belt.

      Instead of saying something clever, she blushed. “I came to pick up some materials for my Sunday school class.”

      “Did you forget them when you were here yesterday?” He extinguished the thought that she’d made an excuse to see him, but not before feeling the tiniest bit pleased.

      “Yeah, I forgot.” But the way she chewed her lip and refused СКАЧАТЬ