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Brendan put his hand gently on Stacy’s and fought down the tidal wave of black anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t give in to the anger. That would make him no better than the person who’d done this. He had to concentrate on her.
“What happened, Stacy? Did Ted do this to you?”
Stacy’s boyfriend was the likely culprit. The girl’s mother seemed to play little role in Stacy’s life, as far as he’d been able to find out the few times Stacy had stopped by the church with some of the neighborhood teens.
“No!” Her response was emphatic, and her hand flew up to shield her eye. “Ted wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.” She jerked away from him, as if ready to flee.
“Right. I’ll bet you walked into a door.”
Claire’s voice startled him. In his concern for Stacy, he’d forgotten she was there.
He frowned at her. Sarcasm wasn’t what Stacy needed at a time like this.
Claire was looking at the girl, and something in her gaze gave him pause. She looked—he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost as if she saw something familiar in Stacy.
He gave himself a mental shake. Claire was all chilly edges and expensive sophistication, from the top of her shining mahogany hair to the tips of the shoes that had probably cost more than he’d made last month. She couldn’t have anything in common with one of his lost street kids.
“Yeah, that’s right. A door.” Stacy snapped the words at Claire, but she leaned back against the pew, her impulse to run apparently vanishing. “I was clumsy.”
Something unspoken seemed to pass between her and Claire.
“Easy to do in the dark,” Claire agreed. She leaned over, touching Stacy’s chin to tilt her head back for a better look. “You ought to get some ice on that shiner.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, almost cool, but Stacy appeared to respond to it. She nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.”
Brendan sat back on his heels. Nothing in his brief acquaintance with Claire Delany had led him to believe she could relate to anyone outside her yuppie world, but he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes.
“We can get some ice in the kitchen,” he said. “But it seems to me you need a place to stay tonight. Someplace where you won’t be walking into any more doors.”
Stacy shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I could just sleep here.” She patted the cushioned pew.
He could imagine the reaction of some of his parishioners if they learned he’d let a kid spend the night in the sanctuary. He’d already heard some sharp comments about letting neighborhood teens use the gym.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said gently. “There’s a shelter—”
“No!” Stacy shot upright, clutching her jacket with both hands. “I’m not going to any shelter. I can take care of myself.”
That was just what she couldn’t do, but she’d never admit it.
“Look, Stacy, you need a safe place.”
“No shelter.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line, and she grabbed the back of the pew. “I better get going.”
“Wait.” He put his hand on his arm. He couldn’t let her walk away. “Just give me a minute, okay? I need to talk to Claire about something.”
She gave him a wary look, but something in his expression must have allayed her suspicion. She nodded, subsiding back onto the seat.
He straightened, taking Claire’s arm to draw her back to the doorway. “I’m sorry about this.” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our conversation.”
That determined jaw of Claire’s seemed to get a little firmer. “I suppose so. What are you going to do with the girl?”
He kept his voice soft. No need for Stacy to hear. “Find a safe place for her to stay tonight. One of my parishioners will take her in, I’m sure.”
“And what about after that? A bed for the night doesn’t solve the problem.” Something he couldn’t interpret shadowed the deep brown of Claire’s eyes.
“It gives us time. By tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk with me.” He hoped.
Claire’s face tightened. “By tomorrow she’ll run right back to the person who gave her that shiner.”
“That’s a pretty cynical assessment.”
“It’s a practical one.”
There was some undercurrent in her words that he didn’t quite get. “Anyway, I’m sorry about this.” He touched her hand lightly in mute apology.
Claire looked up at his touch, something startled and wary in her gaze, and then she took a step back. She glanced past him to where Stacy slumped in the pew.
“Take care of yourself, Stacy.”
She smiled at the girl. His breath caught. That smile transformed Claire’s sharp face for a moment, turning her into someone lively and caring.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said, shaking himself out of it.
She nodded and pushed open the door behind her. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning. I have to get going on the wedding. We only have a month.”
Caution stirred. “We’d better talk with Gabe and Nolie before making any decisions.” We? How had he gotten into this, anyway?
“Of course.” Her smile suggested that she was taking his cooperation for granted. “We’ll do that.”
The door swung shut behind her, and he tried to dismiss an uneasy feeling. He’d managed nervous grooms, tearful brides and overbearing mothers in his time. He could surely handle one determined best friend.
In the meantime, he had Stacy to take care of. He’d better find a parishioner to take her for the night. Then he could—
Well, then he could try to find Ted. The black anger roiled again, under control but always there, always warning him of what he could become if he weren’t careful.
Please, Lord. He didn’t need to form the rest of the prayer. God had heard it often enough from him.
Stacy wasn’t the only one who should probably wait until tomorrow to discuss this.
“Come on, Stacy. Let’s get that ice for your face while I make a few calls.”
He had to focus on Stacy’s needs right now. Even as he told himself that, Claire’s unexpected smile blossomed again in his memory, softening the jagged edges of her personality and turning her into someone he wanted to know better.
Maybe, if it meant seeing that smile more often, working with Claire on the wedding wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
Claire swatted at the insistent alarm clock with a groan. She hadn’t gotten her usual eight hours, thanks to Pastor Brendan and that girl. Stacy’s battered face had refused to be dismissed from her mind. Even after she’d fallen asleep, the image had intruded on her dreams.
She pushed herself out of bed, toes curling into the plush carpet, and padded across to the bathroom. Those bad dreams hadn’t haunted her in a number of years, until last night. Her reaction to the girl had proved they weren’t banished entirely.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to be involved in the situation any further. Helping people like Stacy was Brendan’s business, not hers.
The only problem was that she could understand something Brendan never would about how that girl was feeling right now. He thought a safe place for the night and a good talk would change Stacy’s life.
He was wrong. She could tell Brendan that, but she didn’t intend to. No one in Suffolk knew about her past except Nolie, and that was the way she wanted it.
She showered and dressed for the day with quick efficiency, her morning routine down to an exact science. She’d never been late in all the years she’d been Harvey Gray’s assistant. She wouldn’t give her boss a chance to think he could get along without her.
She went down the steps, running her hand along the smoothly polished railing. The extra little touches of finely turned woodwork and custom fittings had sold her on the town house, and she hadn’t regretted that decision for a moment. A rising young executive needed a proper setting, and each time she made a mortgage payment, she reflected on the value accruing.
She glanced at her watch. She was early, and Brendan’s church was on her way. She may as well stop and see when they could meet again about the wedding. She could make a fresh start at persuading him she knew what she was doing.
The ten minutes it took to drive to the church was just long enough to make her wonder if that was really why she was going in person instead of calling. It wasn’t because she wanted to know what had happened to Stacy. And it certainly wasn’t because she wanted to see Brendan Flanagan again.
She parked at the curb and walked briskly to the office wing. She’d be quick and businesslike. That was the way to deal with him.
No one was in the outer office. Apparently Brendan’s secretary didn’t come in this early. She knocked on the door to his study and it swung open. Brendan sat tipped back in his chair as if he’d been there all night. He righted the chair at the sight of her, running one hand through disheveled hair that was the same glossy brown as the horse chestnuts children collected from beneath the tree in the town square in the fall.
“Claire. What brings you here so early?”
“Did you spend the night here?” She probably shouldn’t ask such a personal question. They weren’t friends. It wasn’t her business where he spent his nights.
He got up, stretching, the movement making her aware of the long, lean strength of him. “Only part of it.”
No, Brendan Flanagan was definitely not her image of a minister. His worn jeans and navy sweater, combined with that certain tough something about his jaw, made him look more like a firefighter, like the rest of his family.
“Ministers keep odd hours, then. Maybe you should have gone into the family business instead.”
“Firefighting? Some days I think it might be easier.” He shrugged. “That’s in my blood, anyway. I’m the fire department chaplain.”
“I didn’t realize.” Although she wasn’t surprised, now that she thought about it. All the Flanagans were involved in firefighting, and it seemed to be a source of family pride.
“Won’t you sit down?” Brendan gestured toward the black vinyl armchair that sat in front of his gray metal desk. His congregation certainly hadn’t put much money into furnishing the minister’s office. The wall of books behind him was undoubtedly the most expensive thing here.
“I’m on my way to work.” She reminded herself of why she’d come. “Let’s just set another time to get together about the wedding.”
“Sure thing.” He flipped open a desk calendar and slid on a pair of black-rimmed glasses to consult it. “But I still want to talk with Gabe and Nolie about this first.”
Obviously he didn’t intend to take her word for what Nolie wanted. “Fine.” She bit off the word. “I’ll give Nolie a call after I get to the office. Maybe we can get this cleared up today, so I can get going on things.”
She turned, then hesitated and reversed. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. “How’s Stacy? Did you find a place for her last night?”
“Yes. She stayed at my aunt and uncle’s house.”
She might have known. The Flanagan clan seemed to stick together on everything. “Have you had that talk with her yet?”
“Not exactly.” Something wary and cautious shadowed his eyes, making them look more gray than green.
She could interpret that look. “Something went wrong. What?”
“Nothing. Well, not exactly.” He so clearly didn’t want to tell her that it was almost funny. “Aunt Siobhan called. When they got up this morning, Stacy was gone. So was fifty dollars from my uncle’s wallet.”
She’d been that desperate once. The memory of it made her stomach churn. She forced the feeling away, angry at Brendan for making her remember. “I hate to say I told you so, but—”
He frowned. “Look, sometimes these kids have to test the boundaries. She’s trying to figure out if we’re people she can count on. She’ll come back.”
“I hope you’re right about that, Pastor.”
But she didn’t think he was. In Stacy’s position, she probably would have used the money to run. Or maybe she’d have gone right back into the bad situation. That had happened more often than she wanted to recall.
“But you think I’m wrong.” He studied her face intently, as if he’d looked beneath the skin to her inner heart. “Why are you so sure?”
The sick feeling was back. Being around Brendan brought out all kinds of strong feelings, and she didn’t want any of them.
“That’s just another situation where you and I don’t agree, I’m afraid.” She pushed the subject away. “I’d better get going.”
“Wait a second.” He held out one hand, smiling at her. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
She frowned, searching for immunity to the masculine wallop that easy smile contained. The Flanagan men seemed to have more than their fair share of male magnetism.
“What kind of a deal?”
“We both think we know what Gabe and Nolie want. If you’re right about Nolie really wanting a big wedding, I’ll help you pull it off.”
She looked at that. She didn’t see a catch. “A deal has to have two sides. What’s the other one?”
“If I’m right about Stacy, then you’ll give me a hand with my teens.”
She stared at him blankly. “Your teens?”
“The kids you saw last night.” Sudden enthusiasm made his eyes sparkle. “I’m trying to help some of them learn to apply for jobs. You’re an expert at the business world. Seems as if you were made for the project.”
“Oh, no.” Words couldn’t express how little she wanted to do that. “I’m not a do-gooder. Besides, I’ll be too busy with the wedding.”
“Not if you’re right. If you’re right, I’ll be helping you with the wedding.”
She was right. So what did she have to lose?
“What do you say?” His eyebrows lifted in a challenge. “Do we have a deal?”
“All right. We have a deal.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand, as if to seal the bargain. She took it, and his fingers closed on hers, generating a wave of warmth that dumbfounded her. For an instant Brendan looked startled, as if that warmth had hit him, too.
She pulled her hand free and looked at her watch. “I have to go. I’m going to be late for work.” That was something else to chalk up against him.
The less she saw of Pastor Brendan, the better. He had a way of upsetting her equilibrium, and she didn’t like things getting out of her control.
So why had she just made a deal to work with him on the wedding arrangements? And with his group of juvenile delinquents, too?
