number of private conversations immediately began, their intent patently obvious. Marcus felt a spurt of gratitude for any effort to put this obviously troubled young lady at ease.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said in a soft, warbling voice as Ovida’s round arms encircled her slender shoulders.
“Nonsense. Suzanne’s daughter could never be a bother to me.” Ovida pulled back slightly and asked, “Now, what’s he done?”
Those coffee-with-cream eyes again flickered with uncertainty. Sensing her discomfiture, Marcus stepped up and pointed an arm toward the door beyond the formal dining area as if he had every right to offer this young woman the use of the house.
“It’s quiet in the kitchen,” he suggested.
Ovida looked up at that, her worried gaze easing somewhat. She patted his cheek with one plump hand.
“I don’t want to impose,” Nicole protested softly, sniffing and ducking her head.
“No problem,” Marcus assured her as Ovida turned the girl toward the door and gently but firmly urged her forward.
A couple of Ovida’s daughters rose to follow, but Marcus lifted a proprietary hand. They would, of course, want to help, but ministry had some privileges, and he found himself compelled to exercise them for once. Both instantly subsided, and he nodded in gratitude before swiftly following Ovida and her guest.
He caught up with and passed them in time to push back the swinging door on its silent hinges. As she passed through into the kitchen, Nicole looked up and whispered her thanks.
“You’re welcome,” Marcus murmured, unashamedly following the pair into the brick-and-oak kitchen and letting the door swing closed behind him.
Ovida parked Nicole at the wrought-iron table in the breakfast nook. “Can I get you something to drink, honey?”
Nicole glanced at the half-empty coffeepot on the counter. Marcus had noticed that wherever Ovida and Larry Cutler were, the coffeepot was kept in service. It seemed fitting that this girl, for she was little more than that, surely, should show a preference for the dark beverage.
Without being asked, he turned to the cabinet and took down a stoneware coffee mug. Then he filled it with strong, black coffee and carried it to the table, placing it gently in front of this dark-haired beauty. She was beautiful, he realized with a jolt. But very young.
“There’s cream and sugar, if you like.”
Smiling wanly, she shook her head, tugged off her worn red leather gloves and wrapped a slender hand around the mug.
“Thank you. Again.”
“You’re welcome. Again.”
As she sipped, he pulled out a chair for Ovida and nodded her down into it.
“Now tell me, honey,” Ovida urged, “what’s wrong?”
Nicole glanced quickly at Marcus before dropping both hands into her lap in a gesture that bespoke both helplessness and frustration. Marcus pulled out another chair and sat, bracing his forearms against the glass tabletop.
“Forgive me if I’m intruding where I’m not wanted, but if there’s a problem, I’d like to help. My name is Marcus Wheeler, by the way.”
“Nicole Archer.”
He smiled to put her at ease. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicole. I take it that you know my sister Jolie.”
Nicole shook her head. “I know she’s married to Vince, that this is their house.”
“If you know the Cutlers, then you must realize that, through Jolie, I’m part of the family now. You probably don’t know that I’m also a minister.”
Her slender, dark brows rose into pronounced arches.
“Really? You seem too…young.”
Marcus chuckled. “That’s good to hear today of all days.” He leaned closer and confessed in a conspiratorial tone. “Today’s my birthday. My twenties are now officially behind me.”
“Happy birthday.” Wrinkling her button of a nose, she added, “I didn’t mean to crash the party.”
“No problem.” He folded his hands. “I’d like to help, if you’ll allow it.”
She sighed, braced an elbow against the tabletop, turned up her palm and dropped her forehead into it.
“There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Straightening, she shook her head. “I don’t even know why I bothered to come here. It’s just that…” She looked at Ovida, and fresh tears clouded her eyes. “You said this was where you’d be if I needed you.”
Ovida reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “You did exactly right. Now, then, what’s Dillard done this time?”
“Same old, same old,” came the muttered answer.
“That man!” Ovida snapped. “Did he hurt you?”
Marcus stiffened as alarm and something he didn’t normally feel, anger, flashed through him.
“Who is Dillard?”
“Nicole’s father,” Ovida divulged. “Dillard Archer’s been mad at the world and living in a bottle ever since his wife died more than three years ago.”
“He was never like this when Mom was alive,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “He’d lose his temper once in a while, even put his fist through a wall a time or two, but now…” She bit her lip.
Marcus reached for the sheltering mantle of his professional detachment. For some reason that seemed more difficult than usual, but he managed, asking gently, “Is he abusive?”
Nicole bowed her head and whispered, “The worst part is the things he says sometimes, especially to my little brother.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Beau. He turned thirteen at the end of November.”
An emotional age, as Marcus remembered all too well. The next question was, to him, all important.
“Has your father ever hit either one of you, Nicole?”
She sucked in a deep breath, her stillness indicating that she was deciding what to tell him.
“Not really. He’s shoved us around a little, Beau mostly. I’m afraid my little brother hasn’t learned when it’s best to keep quiet.”
Ovida shared a grim look with Marcus, saying, “Your poor mother’s heart would break if she wasn’t beyond such emotion, thank the good Lord.”
“I just don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Nicole admitted tearfully. “I know he misses Mom, but we all do.”
“Of course we do,”
