Reclaimed (26 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

“Will you hang around?” Paul rubbed his neck, wanting instead to take Suzanna’s hand.

Chatter rumbled through the hall of the church, Sunday churchgoers discussing their holiday festivities and plans for the upcoming week. Dinner would be served in a few minutes, a tradition practiced before every quarterly business meeting.

Suzanna’s face darkened. “I don’t think so, Paul.” She cast a glance at the floor. “It wouldn’t be good. They vote today, don’t they?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I’m not a member anyway.” She looked back at him. “It wouldn’t look good, and I want you to have a fair chance. Pastor Ron’s approval shouldn’t be wasted, and I’ll only stir suspicion.”

He stepped to her side, blocking any spectator’s view of her face. “But I want you here.”

She raised her eyes, timid and wounded. Scratch propriety. He reached to pull her close.

Suzanna shrank away. “Paul, I know you’re on my side. You don’t have to prove it here.”

She stepped backward and pushed against the glass-paneled door. It gave way, and she scurried down the sidewalk. Paul followed, emotions so stirred he labored to breathe.

“Ah, the infamous Ms. Wilton.” Trish Calloway stopped Suzanna’s flight from the other end of the walkway. “Are you not joining us for our meal?”

The woman’s smirk made Paul’s chest tighten. He covered the gap between them with three quick steps. Suzanna’s spine snapped straight, and her cold glare was set as she glanced back at him.

She leveled her stare on Trish. “My business is finished here.”

Oh, Pickle. You don’t melt ice with frost, darlin’.

“Surely you’d like to stay to support your … neighbor.”

Suzanna stepped forward. Unsure of her motive, Paul caught her arm. She stiffened at his touch but did not acknowledge him.

“Paul is entirely capable all on his own, despite the black lies set against him.”

Trish fluttered her eyelashes. “Whatever could you mean?”

Paul could feel her draw a long breath.
Good heavens. Please don’t let her lunge.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she growled. “As you and Shelby Stanton reign as the town gossips, you’ve maintained this invented scandal, but I’m not beaten. How much lower do you intend to sink?”

Trish’s thin mouth set in a rigid line. “Keep it up, Miss Wilton, and you’re bound to find out.” She adjusted her fitted coat and rolled her shoulders straight. “Give in now, city girl. You’re not welcome here. That will never change, no matter who you wrap around your crooked little finger.”

She looked at Paul, seething with contempt. “Mr. Rustin,”—she nodded—“I look forward to our meeting. Should be very interesting, don’t you think?”

What did that mean? The woman stepped around them, her head tipped back as though looking at them was not to be tolerated.

Was that a verbal catfight? Yikes. Wouldn’t it be easier to deck the other person and move on with life?

Suzanna didn’t move. She stared straight ahead, her face stone, but he felt her tremble under his hand.

“Suzanna…” He stepped closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.

She remained still. “Go inside, Paul.”

“No.”

“You’re making it worse.” Her voice cracked, but her face remained hard.

“You’ll never overcome this by throwing stones back at them.”

“What?”

“All they see is this.” He waved his free hand over her. “You only let them see anger. They never get to see the beautiful woman I know.”

Paul gripped her shoulders and forced her to face him. She locked her eyes on his chest, but he could see the working of her jaw. He traced the side of it with his thumb. “A soft answer turns away wrath.”

She pulled in a breath, and for a moment, he thought she’d crack. He longed for it. But when her eyes flew to him, they smoldered, and she pulled away from his touch.

“You’ll not win like this.” Suzanna pushed his outstretched hands away. “Go. Reclaim your spotless reputation. Don’t waste it on me.”

She abandoned the sidewalk, her angry stride quickly covering the ground to her vehicle.

Paul looked at his boots. Win? An appointment as an elder? The responsibility, though an honor, was fairly low on his priorities. He’d much rather win her heart.

Agnes Blake stood slowly, her weight pressed upon her aluminum cane. “I think we deserve an explanation. Paul’s character has been cast into doubt, Pastor Ron. Is this something the board intends to ignore?”

Heat washed over Paul, from the tips of his cropped hair to the ends of his well-worn boots. So, it’d come to this. Perhaps it was as it should be. Diligent members would be prudent to guard who they allowed to shepherd the congregation. It was time to clear the air.

Pastor Ron put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I don’t believe that is the board’s intent, Mrs. Blake.” He looked over, catching Paul’s eyes. “I’ve personally investigated the rumors flying about, though I found them to be quite questionable from the beginning. There is nothing of any truth to the scandal you’re concerned about. It’s time Paul cleared the air for himself.”

Pastor squeezed his shoulder and took a half step back. Where to begin? Was Paul supposed to tell the whole story? He cleared his throat.

“Suzanna Wilton is my neighbor”—
Good plan. Begin with the obvious—
“and, because she didn’t receive a very warm welcome from our community, I made it my business to see that she was okay.”

Several people squirmed against their pews.

“In spite of the efforts of some to make her otherwise, she’s doing all right. She’s a good woman, and she would like to find a life here in Rock Creek. And she’s never had any intention of damming up the spring.” Paul paused, making eye contact with Jim Calloway and Rodney. “We have since become friends. I’ve no shame in that because there isn’t anything inappropriate in our relationship.”

“Can you explain your constant presence at her home, then?” Chuck rose, slowly unfolding his six-foot-six frame as though he were Goliath rising against his miniature foe.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Stanton.” Paul resisted the urge to pull at his collar, sure steam would rise from the vent. “I have a place to run, a rather large one which demands quite a bit of time. Thus, I am not
constantly
at Suzanna’s home. I do check on her when I can, but—”

“Come now, Paul. You’re not a very good liar.” Chuck crossed his arms. “I know for a fact your blue Ford is parked in her drive pretty early most mornings.”

Patience eroded. “When do you begin your day, Chuck?” Paul grasped the podium in front of him. “Because mine starts around five. If you’d bothered to get to know Suzanna at all, you’d know she starts hers about the same time because her job operates on Eastern Standard Time. I stop by for coffee somewhere between seven and eight because that’s when we’re both ready for a break, and to be perfectly honest, she makes a darn good cup o’ Joe. Another detail you’d know if you’d been at all kind to her.”

Paul stepped around the podium and down the two steps from the stage. “I don’t know how you’re getting this information—spying comes to mind, which is—but you’re certainly misconstruing it.”

Chuck unfolded his arms. “Nothing wrong with checking on a neighbor, as you’re so vehemently claiming. As to misconstruing information—everyone here knows you’ve got a thing for that woman, Rustin. We’re not blind. Suspicious behavior lends itself to doubt.”

Everyone knew? A rush of adrenaline set Paul’s fingers tingling. Maybe so, but Suzanna was still holding him across the fence. How had this become so complicated?

“Her name is Suzanna, Chuck. Try it; it’s not difficult.” He moved toward Chuck. “And while I might have an interest, there’s no scandal in it. She’s a single woman. Nothing has come of it though. Even if it had, or does, I wouldn’t smear her integrity. Character matters to me. It matters to this church family, and I work to uphold it.”

Chuck snorted. “This from a graduate of Boys Town.” His mouth twitched as though he were stifling a grin.

The low blow. Paul’s gut clenched and pain rippled from it. He didn’t want to admit it though. God, his family, and most of his church had forgiven him. It’d been so long ago, but he’d been a rebel, a heartbreaking disappointment. The sting of that shame never completely went away.

“Yes.” He forced his voice to work, though it was low and quiet. “Some stains are never forgotten. I know that very well.”

Paul looked at his hands, trying to ignore the cool moisture in the corners of his eyes. He cleared his throat, but he couldn’t force his eyes to the crowd. “You all know who I am. I haven’t hidden anything from anybody. Do with that as you will.”

He walked to the rear of the sanctuary. Andrea’s face was the only one he caught as he made his exit. Tears glistened against her cheeks, but she reached a hand to him as he passed, the gentle squeeze on his arm a reminder of his family’s love. A reminder of things more important than popularity.

Suzanna pulled the fleece blanket close to her chin, although her brain told her to get up. If she napped any longer, she’d never go to sleep at night. Rolling to her back, she forced her eyes open and rubbed at the salty grit. It stung, beckoning the tears that had stopped rolling when she’d drifted to sleep an hour ago.

She shouldn’t have stayed in Rock Creek. Moving would have restored Paul’s reputation. But he’d wanted her to stay, lending her a hope she’d no business borrowing.

She sniffed, catching a tear with her fingertips before it rolled to her ear. The weekend had been awful. Thank God it was over. Back to normal life.

Perhaps not. It was time for a change. She needed to have a talk with Paul about his visiting habits for his sake and for the security of her heart.

Suzanna sat up. Life would go on. It always did. She slid to the edge of her bed and set her feet on the floor. The closet door stood slightly ajar, and she caught a glimpse of Jason’s box against the back wall. Her hand went to her chain, tugging his ring free from her collar.

Loneliness clawed at her throat, threatening to choke her resolve. She’d lived through hospitals and chemo and hospice and funerals. She would survive this. Her eyes slid shut against the miserable promise. Survival was an agonizing existence.