heard his uncle make a noise, but Jacob was too interested in Miss Zimmer’s reaction. He liked the way her pert little nose flared slightly as if she smelled something distasteful.
“You can take any day of the week off. I don’t care. I clean the church on Mondays.”
“Why not Thursdays?”
Her finely sculptured jaw tightened. “I clean the church on Mondays, the cottage on Thursdays. This is the way it is done. My schedule is very tight and I need to stay on track. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t come barging in and try to change things.”
He took offense to that. “Barging in?”
It wasn’t as if he’d jumped with joy at this detour in his plans. “I don’t need you to clean the cottage while I’m here. I’m perfectly capable of picking up after myself.”
Those amber eyes sparked with indignation and a bit of desperation. “You don’t want me to clean the cottage? But I’ve always cleaned the cottage.”
Uncle Ben laid a hand on Jacob’s arm. “Go with the flow, Jacob. Let her do the job the church pays her to do.”
“Fine.” He relented, not liking the fleeting look of defeat in those magnificent eyes before she lifted her chin and haughtiness entered. “The cottage on Thursdays.”
She gave a sharp nod. “Ben, let Abby know I’ll be there tomorrow as always and if she wants the refrigerator defrosted this week to leave me a note.”
She began gathering up her supplies. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but I’ve a schedule to keep and the mayor’s wife is hosting a quilting bee tonight.”
Jacob and Ben stepped out of the way as she swept past them and out of the cottage, taking the buzz of energy with her.
Bone-deep exhaustion flooded through Jacob. His muscles were stiff and needed to be exercised. He’d take a long run later.
There was a slight throbbing behind his eyes. He’d driven most of the night and day with only a few stops. He hadn’t wanted to waste time. He just wanted the next few months to go by as quickly as possible.
Ben clapped him on the back as they moved into the living room. “Wow. I’ve only seen Pastor Anders take on that fireball and come out unscathed. Everyone else in town pretty much leaves Mara be. Sad story that girl has.”
Ben’s dark eyes narrowed. “You look beat. Abby will want you to come for dinner.” He checked his watch. “We’ll eat around six. That’ll give you a few hours to unwind and relax.”
“Thanks, Uncle Ben.”
After his uncle gave him directions to their house, he left, and Jacob headed straight for the phone to call his grandfather. Carol told him in her crisp, distant way that Leland was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. Jacob held on to his irritation at being put off and asked to have his grandfather return his call as soon as possible.
As he hung up, it slammed into him just what Grace Stephens had said about Mara. He’d have to ask Miss Zimmer for the information he needed about Sunday services. With a groan he sank onto the couch.
So that meant he was going to have to deal closely with the wild woman who’d brandished her scrub brush so deftly. And for some reason, he actually looked forward to sparring with her.
Which didn’t make any sense, but nothing in the past few days had gone as he’d planned, so why should this be any different?
Chapter Two
A boulder-sized lump of dread sat heavily on Mara’s chest, but she ignored the sensation.
Life wasn’t for the faint of heart, and the road she traveled was full of hard work. But someday she’d reach the end.
Someday she’d find redemption, then she could pick and choose her path. Then maybe she’d find the happiness and connections she longed for. But until that day came, she’d do what needed to be done.
Today she was scheduled to work on the project she’d started nearly six months ago.
Transcribing Pastor Anders’s sermons and memoirs from his scribbled notes to the computer set up in his office.
Correction. Pastor Durand’s office. In the cottage.
How much hassle would moving the computer cause?
She regretted she hadn’t brought up the project when they’d met yesterday, but he’d flustered her with his sharp wit and heavy-lidded, watchful eyes. If his scrutiny hadn’t been so intent she would have said he had puppy-dog eyes.
But there was nothing soft and squishy about the man. It had taken everything in her to get out of there with some semblance of dignity.
And worse, he seemed to find her amusing. Though she’d caught anger in his brown eyes when she’d questioned his age.
The man was far too young and handsome to be a pastor. Granted he was two years older than she. But she felt ages older than twenty-four. Still, a tall, lean-muscled twenty-six-year-old pastor with a strong square jaw just wasn’t appropriate.
He didn’t resemble what she thought a pastor should look like. Approachable, harmless. Good-natured with a ready smile. That certainly wasn’t Jacob Durand. There was something dark in his eyes, something forbidden.
She’d expected, wanted, the new pastor to be like Pastor Anders. A man in need of an assistant. Older, willing to have her serve him and the church.
She needed to be of service. But somehow she doubted Pastor Durand would understand as Pastor Anders had. He’d helped her through the worst years. Kept her from spinning toward depression with his suggestion she could find more useful ways of serving God than wallowing in self-pity.
That’s when realization had come to her. If she wanted God’s forgiveness she needed to earn it.
Her organizer lay on the farm-style kitchen table in the middle of the living room. She closed the book with a decisive snap, which dislodged a stray garnet-colored bead. The bead rolled off the edge of the table and landed in the green shag carpet. She plucked the bead from the fibers of the carpet and set it in the box with the rest of the materials she used for making jewelry.
Time to finish what she’d started. She slipped into her brown leather walking shoes and briskly set out for the pastor’s residence. There were no cement sidewalks, so she walked on the paved road past the manicured yards of her neighbors. She admired the well-kept houses and wished she had the extra funds to fix up her house.
But that wasn’t a priority.
At the door of the pastor’s cottage, she hesitated. She could hear the strains of guitar music coming from inside. Apparently another difference between the old pastor and the new.
Maybe she should have called, warned him she was coming over. She squared her shoulders. She had a job to do, and he was just going to have to let her do it.
She rapped her knuckles loudly on the door. The music stopped. As she waited, she wiped the bottoms of her shoes, dirty from the road, on the shoe
