Heart of Texas Vol. 3 (36 page)

“What about Sarah?” he asked, unable to hide his anger. He felt she was being selfish, putting herself first. He'd offered to be more than her husband; he'd wanted to adopt her child.

“I'll raise her on my own. It was what I intended from the first.”

He got to his feet. “You need to do what you think is best.”

“That's exactly what I am doing. Thank you,” she said, and her voice wavered slightly.

Wade ignored the emotion she revealed and struggled to contain his own. “I apologize for the embarrassment I caused you this afternoon.”

“Oh, Wade.”

“I won't bother you again.” Having said that, he walked out of the office.

P
REACHING
S
UNDAY'S SERMON
was one of the most difficult tasks Wade had ever performed during his entire time in the ministry. Word of the altercation between him and Lyle Whitehouse had spread like wildfire through Promise, gathering other rumors and ugly speculations. As he entered the sanctuary Sunday morning, he noticed that he'd drawn a record crowd. The church was filled to capacity, and the overflow had collected in the rear of the room. He'd certainly hoped to pack the pews, but not for a reason like this.

Curiosity seekers had come to see his cut lip and his black eye. They'd come to hear his explanation. He hated to disappoint all the good people of Promise, but he had no intention of offering excuses or justifications. He stood before them as a man who'd made a mistake. One he deeply regretted. He wasn't perfect and didn't pretend to be, but he was ready to accept the consequences of his actions—if it came to that. He hoped it wouldn't, but the choice wasn't his.

The choir opened the service with a favorite hymn of Wade's, written by Fanny Crosby a century earlier. Although it hurt his mouth, his voice joined theirs as he sang,
“This is my story, this is my song…”

Rather than keep everyone in suspense, Wade approached the lectern when the hymn ended. “Good morning,” he said and managed a painful smile.

His words were enthusiastically echoed back. Several people craned their necks to get a better look at him. It was a wonder Louise Powell didn't topple into the aisle, considering how far she leaned sideways.

Wade didn't blame his parishioners for being curious. His reflection in the mirror told him far more than he wanted to know. He was a sight with his obvious injuries. The swelling in his jaw had gone down, although an ugly bruise remained. If his mother could see him now, she'd box his ears but good.

“Before I begin my sermon,” he said, gazing out over the faces he knew so well, “I hope you'll indulge me while I take a few moments to discuss the rumor that I was involved in a fistfight with a local ranch hand.”

A low hum of whispers followed.

“What you heard is correct. I was in an altercation this week.”

Again he heard whispers as though his ready admission had shocked certain people, although from his face it should have been obvious that at least some of the rumors were true. “I don't have any excuses or explanations.” He cast his eyes down. “As members of this church, you have a right to expect—to demand—that your pastor's behavior be exemplary, above reproach. I have failed you. I've failed myself. I can only offer you my sincerest apology.” His hands gripped the podium, his fingers white from the pressure.

“Seeing that such an action might raise a question in your eyes about my suitability as your pastor, I've asked the elders to pass out ballots for a vote of confidence. If you're still willing to have me serve you in the capacity of pastor, then I'll do so with a grateful and humble heart. If not, I'll leave the church. The decision is yours.”

He sat down, and the elders moved through the church, passing out the ballots.

Somehow, Wade managed to finish the service. As soon as he'd given the benediction, he retired to his office while the votes were being counted. Alone with his worries and fears, he tried to imagine what his life would be like outside the ministry. With his emotions muddled, his heart broken and his career badly shaken, Wade desperately needed the affirmation of his church family. Without it…well, he just didn't know.

Max Jordan knocked politely on his office door.

“Come in.” Wade stood, bracing himself for the news.

Max entered the room and set the ballots on the edge of his desk. “The vote is unanimous. The members of Promise Christian Church want you to stay on as our pastor.”

Wade sank to his chair in a rush of relief.

“Quite a few of our members have written you notes we thought you should read. You've done a lot for the people in this town, and we aren't about to forget it.”

Wade released his breath in a slow sigh. Even Louise Powell had voted that he stay on. Now
that
said something.

“We're not looking for a saint to lead us, Reverend,” Max added. “As you said, what you did was wrong, but you were willing to get up in front of everyone and say so. It's reassuring to know you face the same struggles we do. It isn't always an easy thing, holding one's temper in check. You did the right thing, admitting you'd made a mistake and reminding us that violence isn't a solution.

“Today's the best sermon you've ever preached because we could see you'd reached that conclusion the way we have ourselves. The hard way—through experience.”

Wade nodded, in full agreement.

“We want you to stay, Wade. Each and every one of us.”

Wade took hold of Max's hand and shook it. “Thank you,” he said.

“No, Pastor, thank
you.
”

Wade had never felt so humbled. His congregation had taught him a lesson in forgiveness that he wouldn't soon forget.

D
OVIE HAD RARELY SEEN
two people more miserable than Amy and Wade. It was clear to her that Amy was deeply in love with Wade and he was equally crazy about her.

“We have to do something,” she told her husband early Monday afternoon. Frank generally stopped by the shop at some point for coffee. It was a habit established long before they were married and one she enjoyed to this day.

“You mean about Amy and Wade?” he asked, helping himself to an extra cookie. The peanut-butter cookies half dipped in chocolate were his favorites.

“Who else would I be talking about?” she snapped. She reached for a cookie, too, although she'd recently made a resolution to avoid sweets. But the situation with Amy and Wade had bothered her since Sunday-morning service.

“I don't think I'll ever forget Wade standing up in front of the church and apologizing like that.” It'd demanded every ounce of self-restraint Dovie possessed not to leap to her feet and shout that she'd have punched out Lyle Whitehouse herself had she been there.

Wade had offered no justifications or excuses. She knew the details of the fight only because she was married to the town's sheriff. Although Frank hadn't been all that forthcoming.

“I respect Wade for doing that,” Frank said. “But we can't go sticking our noses in other people's business, Dovie, no matter how much we care.”

“But, Frank, this isn't just
anyone.
It's Amy.”

Her husband sighed. “I know that, too, sweetheart, but we can't live their lives for them. Amy's old enough to make up her own mind.”

“But she's miserable.”

Frank hesitated. He and Dovie had grown to love the young woman who'd come into their lives so recently. It was as though they'd been given a daughter to love and cherish. They'd established a closeness that answered needs on both sides; Amy yearned for a family, and Dovie and Frank each had a heart full of love to share. It was almost as though her arrival in Promise had been ordained.

“I love Amy as though she were my own child,” Dovie told her husband.

“I know, sweetheart. I do, too.”

“Can't we do
something
to help her through this?”

Frank mulled over her question for a moment. “I don't know what we can do other than give her our support.”

Dovie sighed, at a loss as to how to help her friend. She longed to wrap Amy protectively in her arms and keep her safe.

Frank left a few minutes later, and she carried their dishes to the tiny kitchen at the back of the shop. Her gaze fell on the beautifully wrapped gift she was holding for Wade. His eyes had shone with emotion—with love for Amy—the day he'd come into the shop and purchased the robe. He'd been almost giddy with happiness—a far cry from the way he'd looked on Sunday.

Amy had skipped church, not that Dovie blamed her. Under the circumstances staying away was probably for the best. Dovie could well imagine Louise hounding her with questions following the service; at least Amy had been spared an inquisition.

On impulse Dovie grabbed the gift and headed out the front door. She turned over the Open sign to read Closed and walked toward Ellie's feed store with the purposeful steps of a woman on a mission.

Ellie met her out front and waved in greeting. “Hi, Dovie!”

“Is Amy around?” Dovie asked, breathless from her brisk walk. She felt a certain urgency to give Wade's gift to Amy now, despite the fact that it was early afternoon, Amy was at work and she herself had a business to run.

“She's at home.” Ellie glanced down at her clipboard.

“She's not ill, is she?” Dovie was instantly concerned.

“I don't think so,” Ellie said. She looked up again, meeting Dovie's eyes. “Has she asked you about Bitter End?”

Dovie frowned. “Yes, but not recently.” The ghost town wasn't an ominous secret the way it had been in years past, but it wasn't a topic of everyday conversation, either. “What makes you ask?”

“She's been openly curious for some time,” Ellie told Dovie. “I might be off base, but she was full of questions this morning, and then she asked for the afternoon off. She borrowed the truck for a few hours, too.”

“You don't think she'd actually consider going there, do you?”

“I certainly hope not.” But Dovie could tell Ellie was worried.

“When I questioned Amy about her plans, she hedged—as though she didn't want to tell me.”

“Then I'll find out myself,” Dovie said and headed toward the small house where Frank had once lived, the gift box tucked under her arm. As she'd expected, Ellie's truck was parked in the driveway.

Amy answered Dovie's knock; her eyes widened when she saw it was her friend. “Dovie,” she said, “come in.”

Dovie took one look at Amy and instantly knew that Ellie's fears were well grounded. She was dressed in loose-fitting slacks, a sweatshirt and ankle-high boots. “You're going to Bitter End, aren't you?” Amy couldn't very well deny it, dressed as she was. “Amy, for the love of heaven, you can't just go traipsing around the countryside!”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, you're pregnant—and…and it's dangerous.”

“Then come, too.”

“Me?”
Dovie brought her hand to her throat, taken aback by the suggestion.

“Yes,
you
. You've never been, have you?”

“No,” Dovie admitted reluctantly. It wasn't because she didn't want to see Bitter End herself. She did, but Frank had put her off for one reason or another. She didn't think he'd purposely kept her away, just that he believed it wasn't anyplace for her. But she had roots there, too, and was curious about the old town.

“Aren't you interested?”

Dovie had to admit she was. “Even if I was willing to join you, I couldn't,” she said. “I don't have any directions…”

“I have a map,” Amy said and led her into the kitchen. “Nell made it for me some time ago and I've been studying it.”

“You're serious about this, aren't you?” Dovie said as she gazed at the hand-drawn map.

“Very much so.”

“But why now?”

“I…I don't know. I woke up this morning and I felt this…this burning need to do something, go somewhere. I need to get away for a while, I guess. I know it's silly, I know I probably shouldn't, but I want to see Bitter End. I'm prepared to go alone, but I'd rather someone was with me.”

It went without saying that if things had been different, Wade would be taking her. Half an hour earlier, Dovie had been looking for a way to help Amy and Wade, and now it came to her that this would offer the perfect opportunity to talk. She and Amy would be spending time alone, and if ever Amy confided her feelings it'd be now.

“I'll go.”

Amy stared at her. “Are you
sure,
Dovie?”

She nodded. “I'll close up for the day, then call Frank and let him know what we're doing.”

“He'll try to talk us out of it,” Amy said, sounding as though she feared he might succeed.

“I won't let him.”

“But…”

“I'll tell you what,” Dovie said, thinking fast. “I've got a cellular phone and I'll conveniently forget to call him until we're there.” “Oh, Dovie, are you sure? He might get terribly upset with you.”

“I'm sure he will, but Frank needs to know I have a mind of my own,” she said firmly. “I've been wanting to visit that ghost town myself.” If they were going to find it that afternoon, there were several things she needed to do. First she had to close the shop, then change clothes and leave a written message, as well as pack her cellular. “I'll be back in half an hour,” Dovie promised. “Oh,” she said, almost forgetting the purpose of her visit. “The package is for you.”