FROZEN Martha sped toward Shelter Valley Community Church and the four-bedroom rectory immediately behind it. From the moment her first child had been born, she’d been dreading one of those calls. The kind that started with “I’m sorry…” insert “Martha, Mrs. Moore, Ms. Moore, Ma’am.” It had played itself out in all those ways and more over the years.
She’d just never imagined it coming from a preacher.
That had to be good news. If Ellen were dying, she’d be on her way to the hospital, not waiting in the big house behind the church. There’d be emergency personnel around, not a minister.
Of course, he’d said Ellen needed a doctor and refused to see one….
Panic made Martha’s movements jerky as she turned the last corner.
It had to be good news that her daughter had been capable of making that decision.
But why would she? Ellen didn’t have a fear of doctors. So why would her daughter suddenly be averse to…
There were no vehicles other than the pastor’s green Explorer at the house. No ambulance. No flashing lights.
That had to be good news. It had to be. Martha couldn’t face anything else.
And then David Marks opened his kitchen door and Martha had her first glimpse of her beautiful daughter, huddled there with a blanket around her shoulders, eyes filled with fear and incomprehension—and a desperate plea for her mother to make things better. And what little bit of faith Martha had been hoarding deep inside died right then and there.
MARTHA HELD ELLEN in her arms all the way to the hospital in Phoenix. The girl had tried to tell her mother what had happened, but David had done most of the talking. Enough for Martha to know Ellen needed immediate medical attention.
Talk could come later.
Ellen had refused to go to the clinic in Shelter Valley, and Martha hadn’t been able to ignore her battered daughter’s plea to keep her rape a secret. She didn’t want people’s pity or concern, didn’t want their questions or assessing looks. Martha had insisted on calling Greg Richards, though. The sheriff of Shelter Valley had a job to do. A crime to solve, the likes of which Shelter Valley had never known before.
One of their own had been violated. Right there in the town’s safe and protected limits.
Greg said he’d meet them at the hospital in Phoenix.
“Dr. Anderson’s waiting for us in the emergency room,” Martha told David as he drove with a calm she envied down the long dark stretch of highway between Shelter Valley and the nearest big city.
The only person other than the sheriff that she’d called had been her best friend, Becca Parsons, who’d arranged for the doctor to meet them at the hospital. In the meantime, they’d given Ellen some over-the-counter acetaminophen with an added sleep aid. Ellen was obviously floating in and out, but she was listening to her mother. Martha could tell by the movement in her daughter’s ribs against her own, the tightening of Ellen’s hand squeezing hers. Ellen didn’t want to see a doctor. Martha didn’t blame her.
“You’ve met Becca Parsons and her little daughter, Bethany,” Martha said to David, rubbing her hand across Ellen’s back. The girl had refused to let her mother go home and get fresh clothes for her. Or to borrow a T-shirt and shorts from Pastor Marks. She’d refused to let her clothes be taken from her body.
She’d refused to let her mother go, period, which was why Martha—in spite of seat belt laws—had a twenty-year-old child in her lap. Let some cop try to stop them and give her a hard time about it.
“Of course I know them,” David was saying. “As the new mayor, she gave me my official welcome to town.” He barely took his eyes from the road, but Martha felt his glance in their direction. “Will and I have played golf a time or two.”
Martha wondered why Becca hadn’t mentioned that.
“Dr. Anderson’s the one who helped them have Bethany,” Martha said now, hoping to reassure her daughter, somehow, that miracles did happen. That everything was going to be okay.
Reassure her child of something she knew in her heart was not the truth.
“After twenty years of trying, the impossible became possible, thanks to Dr. Anderson’s care and compassion.” If nothing else, she was filling the car with something besides the agony in her arms. In her daughter’s heart.
The hope that sometimes life did work out for the best. The belief that good people did win. That justice would be done.
Ellen’s fingers relaxed their grip on Martha’s blouse, just for a second. The tightness in Martha’s heart eased for that second, too.
“And now they have Kim, too.” David’s words were matter-of-fact.
The little Korean boy Becca and Will had adopted the previous summer. “Yeah.”
“Each is an example of faith,” he said softly.
Ellen whimpered and Martha moved her hand from her daughter’s back to the hair that was still caked to her head. Martha swallowed back nausea. God, she needed some time alone with her baby.
To bathe her. To help Ellen feel clean again.
“Faith?” Because of the child in her arms she had to restrain the intensity of the anger his words instilled. But she did so with great difficulty. Who did he think he was? Preaching, even now! She wanted to scream at him to drop it. “You got that one wrong, Preacher,” she said, rocking Ellen gently as the girl moaned again. “Becca had long ago lost faith and given up any hope of having a baby. Bethany’s arrival was sheer luck. Or the twisted humor of fate.”
The same fate that was playing with them now? As they drove Martha’s sweet daughter to see how much damage had actually been done—and to prevent any consequences from the hell she’d suffered while Martha was at home, oblivious, nagging Tim to do his math homework.
“Will never lost faith. Or gave up hope.”
The words weren’t loud, but they were firm.
Martha couldn’t reply. She didn’t feel like arguing. Let the man have his fantasies about the power of faith and hope.
She couldn’t afford them.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT by the time they got home. After the doctor had taken care of her, Ellen had met with a police artist who’d come to the hospital and she’d given a description of her attacker. Then she’d swallowed something to help her sleep—and she’d been dead to the world in the back seat of the Explorer before they left the lights of Phoenix behind. A counseling appointment had been arranged for the following afternoon. Martha anxiously stood by as David pulled her sleeping daughter out of the car and carried her into the house.
“What’s going on?” Shelley was there, wide-eyed and looking younger than she had in years, as they came into the foyer.
With a quick hug for her teenager who’d been so full of anger lately, Martha said, “In a minute,” and led David through the sprawling single-story
