Restoring Her Faith. Jennifer Slattery

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СКАЧАТЬ about your bike?”

      She glanced around. “I’ll chain it to that tree over there.”

      “Sounds good.” He swung his truck around, maneuvered her trailer into a parking slot and unhitched it. Less than five minutes later, he was driving down the local road.

      “Maybe you should drop me off at the mechanic’s so I can check on my car.”

      “I got Mike’s number, if you want to call. Though I suspect he’ll phone you soon as he knows something.”

      “Mike?”

      “He owns the repair shop. Though he’s probably at the picnic, too.” Drake slowed as they entered town. “Most everybody is. Few folks will turn down a free plate of fried chicken.”

      “I see.” Her eyes tracked the single-story storefronts, which probably looked run-down and archaic to a city girl like her.

      But to him, the simple brick exteriors, the signs that could use fresh coats of paint and the arching windows with peeling trim, were rife with memories. While so many other towns had chosen to replace the flavor of their area with the new and shiny, Sage Creek’s residents valued history over glitz. For that he was grateful.

      “I suppose that café over there is closed, as well?” She pointed to Wilma’s Kitchen, the only full-service diner in town.

      He eyed the dark windows, shaded by a sun-bleached green awning.

      “All right.” Faith held her purse close. “The picnic will be fine. Thank you.” She paused. “You’ll bring me back to the hotel later?”

      “Sure thing.”

      That woman was as stiff as a hitching post, and clearly ready to bail from his truck at the first opportunity. Hopefully a plate of fried chicken would relax her some, and come tomorrow, at the job site, they could start over. On better footing. Otherwise things could turn troublesome real quick.

      * * *

      As she stepped from Drake’s truck, faces turned Faith’s way, eyebrows raised. As if she held a giant sign that shouted, “Out-of-towner. Not one of us.”

      Just like in middle school. Not that it mattered what these people thought of her.

      She needed to stay focused on why she was here.

      Loading up their plates, men, women and children crowded around three rectangular tables set end to end. Others sat on folding chairs or blankets spread out on the grass in the shade of giant oak trees. Laughter and the scents of baked berry pies and beef stew floated on the air, making her stomach grumble.

      “Daddy!” A blond, chubby-cheeked little boy with bright eyes ran toward Drake. He held out a glass jar. “Look.”

      Was he married? She glanced at his bare ring finger.

      He grinned, dropped to one knee and wrapped an arm around the boy. “Whatcha got there? A toad?”

      The child’s head bobbed. “His name’s Toady. Can I keep him?”

      “He’s got a name already, does he?” Drake’s grin crinkled the skin around his eyes.

      “Figured you’d be more pleased with his catch than I was.” A curvy woman with long blond hair came toward him. His wife? Strange how the thought bothered Faith. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you what your other son’s been doing.”

      Drake ruffled the child’s hair, then stood. “Making mud pies down by the lake?”

      “Close enough.” The lady turned to Faith, as if seeing her for the first time. “Hey.” Her gaze shifted from her to Drake, then back again. “I’m Elizabeth, Drake’s sister.”

      Faith felt oddly comforted, then chastised herself for it.

      Drake introduced his son. The little one responded by darting behind him.

      When he peeked around Drake’s back, Faith smiled. “Hi, William.” She took half a step back to add distance between her and this cowboy who caused her to feel much too jittery and off-kilter.

      Probably residual effects from the accident. That he’d caused... Something she’d do well to remember whenever he flashed that handsome smile in her direction. Men like him were all the same. They waltzed around in their boots and faded jeans, believing they were God’s gift to women.

      Drake introduced her, explaining why she was here and how they’d met.

      “Wow.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Way to make a lasting impression, big brother.”

      He hooked a thumb in his pocket and made a visual sweep of the area. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

      A flicker of sadness flashed in the woman’s eyes. With a nod, she pointed toward a picnic pavilion surrounded by tall oak trees. “Dad’s already asking to go back home.”

      He cast Faith a sideways glance. “I’ll go give him a holler, once I help this little lady load up on the grub.”

      “I’ll take care of that.” Elizabeth linked arms with Faith. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to our pie ladies. The most important women to get to know in this town, especially since they’ve helped raise a chunk of the funding for Trinity Faith’s restoration.”

      A chunk? Did that mean others had raised the rest, or that the committee had managed to come up with only part of the money? Otherwise this trip could set her back, after all her expenses, and she still didn’t know if she could order replacement glass in time. She hadn’t been able to get through to the supply store.

      Weaving around adults and children, Elizabeth eventually led her to a pair of picnic tables. Faith fought to keep her overloaded plate of chicken, potato salad, green salad, Jell-O and two other salads she’d never heard of from toppling out of her hand.

      Every few steps, Elizabeth stopped to introduce her to people—someone from the church finance committee, or a member of the fund-raising team. The pastor’s wife, mayor’s daughter, town librarian.

      Everyone had ideas on how the renovation should go and a story or three to go with them.

      A hunchbacked woman with fluffy white hair placed a hand on Faith’s forearm, nearly causing her to drop her lunch. “You know what we need? One of those crying rooms like them bigger churches got. And the paint in the foyer’s too muted. We need something brighter. Like yellow.”

      “Margie, they can’t just go around changing colors.” A tall woman in a ruffled tank rolled her eyes.

      Margie frowned. “Who says?”

      “The cultural committee.” The woman stepped closer, as if accepting a challenge. Or maybe initiating one. “Historical registry requirements and all.”

      When they reached the pavilion, Faith saw Drake squatting in front of an older man in a wheelchair. The man leaned back, arms crossed, his bushy eyebrows pinched in a scowl.

      A silver-haired woman sat beside СКАЧАТЬ