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  She tensed. Was this the beginning of an emotional landslide?

  Then he winked and Abby released the breath she’d been holding.

  She returned his smile and squeezed his hand. She also stilled her foot—at least for the moment.

  There was much to admire in a Catholic funeral. Having it in the church that had seen many of the significant events of a person’s life felt right, the completion of a circle. And the ritual was comforting. Not to mention it allowed a person to move around; stand, respond, sit, kneel, sit, stand. Catholic aerobics.

  When time came for communion, non-Catholics Abby and her father remained in their pew. She noticed that Jason Coble, Lucy’s ex-husband, also remained behind, the only one left in the family’s seating area.

  Abby had always thought he and Lucy were an odd match, but could never say exactly why. Not that she knew either of them all that well. Even though Betsy and Constance had been close, Lucy and Abby had not. Lucy had been a few years ahead of Abby in school, but even if they’d been the same age, Abby doubted they would ever have been more than passing acquaintances. Lucy was breathtaking; an exotic hothouse flower, a beautiful contrast of pure, delicate white and vivid fuchsia. Abby was a common carnation; a filler flower.

  Abby studied Jason Coble for a moment. She couldn’t associate him with any plant or flower. He seemed much more like the earth that nurtured all living things. A silent source of strength; not all flash and glitter like Lucy’s first husband.

  Jason Coble wasn’t from Preston. Lucy had met him while she’d been visiting a friend in Savannah. He was a nice-looking man; calm, confident, maybe a little stiff. He reminded Abby of a youngish college professor—in an Indiana Jones kind of way.

  After receiving communion, Brenna returned to her seat beside her father. Her face looked as peaceful as any angel. Lucy was right behind her, crying and trembling so hard that Bryce had to support her.

  After the service, Abby and Maggie remained in the sanctuary, sorting which flower arrangements would go with the family, which to the graveside, which to the local nursing home, and which would remain in the church.

  As Jason and Brenna exited the sanctuary, Brenna hesitated, her gaze on her mother. Lucy was sobbing inconsolably, a tissue pressed to her mouth. Brenna looked up at Jason, her eyes filled with her conflicted allegiance.

  Jason squeezed her hand and nodded. “Go on, Peanut.”

  “Love you, Daddy,” Brenna said as she let go of his hand and slipped away.

  “You, too, baby,” Jason said softly.

  Bryce was supporting Lucy by the arm. Brenna took her other hand, offering all of the comfort her little heart could hold.

  Jason watched, thinking that even for Lucy this display of grief was overblown. He suspected an emotional fissure that most likely did not have its origins in her grandmother’s passing. And emotional fissures for Lucy quickly became chasms. He’d have to keep a close eye.

  Constance went to Lucy. As she did she shot Jason a look that said she’d extended her olive branch as far as she’d intended. He was no longer a part of this family picture.

  He took a step back into the sanctuary and leaned against the doorjamb.

  That was when he saw Betsy’s daughter Abby. Her nearly waist-length dark hair was pulled away from her face in a wide clip, keeping it out of the way as she moved quickly and efficiently, sorting through the flower arrangements. Even with it held back like that, it flowed with her movements, falling over her shoulders like mahogany silk.

  He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. An itch in the center of his palm urged him to find out.

  That reaction took him by surprise. He hadn’t felt the desire to touch a woman for a very long time—his complicated life just didn’t allow those feelings to surface.

  And yet, here he was, unable to look away from Abby Whitman.

  She had the build of a woman who used her muscles, but somehow he doubted it was at a gym. She seemed the type to get her exercise outdoors. He liked that. It was natural, not the artificial toning and tanning Lucy had always subscribed to.

  But it wasn’t only Abby’s appearance and energetic nature that drew his eye. It was the way she interacted with Maggie. She was neither coddling nor discounting—-the two ways most people dealt with Maggie. She and Abby were working as a team, Abby directing matter-of-factly, yet kindly. Their mutual respect was as clear as the bells ringing in the church tower.

  In that instant, Jason decided there was much to admire in Abby Whitman, beyond her reputation for artistic brilliance in her work.

  He started down the center aisle, feeling as if fate was directing his feet, his unexpected attraction outweighing his reservations.

  Abby had just pointed Maggie toward a sturdy white amaryllis that would go to the nursing home when she heard a footfall behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Jason Coble stood in front of the first row of pews with his hands in his pants pockets.

  Something flashed on his face when they made eye contact, as if he’d been startled by her turning.

  He was even better-looking up close. But there was something more about him, a calm self-assurance that was far from arrogance. She’d been right in her assessment that he was like the earth, sustaining, giving.

  He offered a friendly smile and gestured toward the flowers. “May I give you ladies a hand with those?”

  Before Abby could respond, Maggie straightened with the amaryllis in hand. “Thank you. No. It’s our job.”

  Jason gestured with a tip of his head toward the narthex. “I wanted to give them some time. My presence tends to make Lucy more upset….”

  Abby gave a nod of understanding, surprisingly pleased to have an excuse to keep him around for a while. She told herself it was simple curiosity.

  She looked to Maggie. “If Dr. Coble helps us, we’ll be on our way to Tidewater Manor that much sooner.” Maggie loved visiting the nursing home when they delivered the flowers.

  “Maybe I could help with the heavy ones,” Jason said. “Of course, Maggie will need to tell me where they go.”

  Abby waited while Maggie made up her mind, fighting the urge to make the decision for her and accept his help.

  After a moment, Maggie held the amaryllis out to him. “This goes by the side door.” She pointed to the open door to the church office.

  Jason nodded and took the plant.

  As he started toward the office, Maggie called out. “Don’t drop it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His tone said he had a smile on his face.

  Once all of the flowers that needed to be transported were out of the sanctuary, Maggie looked at Jason and said, “You did a good job.”

  He smiled in a way that brightened his entire being. Abby had always thought him reserved; certainly the picture Lucy’s mother had painted of him to Abby’s mother was that of a critical and unforgiving man. But what Abby had seen firsthand said he was anything but.

  He put a hand on his chest and bowed slightly. “Knowing how serious you are about your work, I take that as a high compliment, Miss Maggie.”

  Maggie started toward the office. “Don’t get a big head.”

  Abby winced. “Maggie can be a harsh taskmaster.”

  He smiled again. “Just glad I lived up to expectations.”

  Maggie called from the office door, “Ready to go, Abby?”

  “I’ll be right there.” She turned to Jason. “Thanks for the help.”

  He gave a smile that exposed dimples Abby hadn’t noticed until now. His hands pushed back his jacket and disappeared into his pants pockets again. He glanced toward the narthex. “My motive wasn’t entirely selfless.”

  She returned his smile, reluctant to walk away. “Well, we appreciate it anyway.”

  With a nod, he took a step backward, then hesitated. “I was sorry to hear about your mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  His probing gaze locked with hers. “Unexpected deaths are always most difficult.”


  Looking into his eyes, she felt the jittery agitation that had been thrumming just beneath the surface of her skin all morning suddenly calm. The choppy ripples in her soul smoothed to a peaceful stillness. “It’s taking time, but we’re all adjusting.”

  “Your dad doing all right?”

  Abby thought of this morning’s overblown panic over his missing keys. “It’s hardest on him. He and Mom always did everything together—”

  “Aaaaabeeeeee.” Maggie called anxiously through the door.

  “I’d better go. Thanks again.” She stepped around him to retrieve her purse from the first pew. As she did she brushed his arm and felt a little ripple of expectation.

  When she looked up, her dad was coming toward them. She slipped her purse on her shoulder and waited.

  With a smile, he shook hands with Jason. “Tom Whitman.”

  “Jason Coble… we’ve met, but it’s been a while.”

  Her dad nodded. “Are you here with Abby?”

  What an odd question.

  “No.” Jason cast a glance at Abby. “No, I’m Lucy’s ex-husband.”

  Her dad’s smile faltered, then quickly recovered. “Ah, yes.” He turned to Abby. “You go on, sweetie. Constance and John want me to go with them to the place where they bury people.”

  The place where they bury people? What in the hell was wrong with him today?

  Jason quietly prompted, “You mean the cemetery?”

  Her father blinked and shifted his gaze away.

  “Dad?”

  After a moment, her father said, “They’ll take me home after.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later, sweetie.”

  Unsure how to respond, she watched him walk away.

  When she glanced at Jason Coble, the look in his eyes said that she might have reason to worry.

  CHAPTER 2

  After two extra games of checkers with Mr. Deveraux, Maggie insisted on polishing Mrs. Farnham’s nails because she’d promised the last time she and Abby had been at Tidewater Manor. While Maggie took care of Mrs. Farnham, Abby polished Mrs. Farnham’s roommate’s nails. Abby could swear word spread faster at Tidewater than it did at Beanie’s Cafe in downtown Preston. One by one, ladies trickled in to Mrs. Farnham’s room, creating a traffic jam of walkers and wheelchairs. They came with questioning brows and hopeful gazes.

  By the time Abby and Maggie left the facility, they’d done all of the resident ladies’ nails, with the exception of Miss Turnbull, who, although Maggie was worried about her feeling left out, was in a coma and needed to have the color of her nail beds monitored.

  As Abby drove through the rain back to St. Andrew’s, Maggie grew uncommonly quiet. After a while, the sound of the windshield wipers thumping back and forth seemed to amplify the uncharacteristic silence. With a glance across the car, Abby said, “You certainly made those folks happy today.”

  Maggie kept her gaze on the windshield and sighed. After a moment, she said, “Do you think when Uncle Father dies I’ll have to live at Tidewater Manor?” The pronunciation of her Rs was always thick, but when she was upset the impediment became more pronounced.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  With a shrug, Maggie shifted her gaze to her lap. She was picking at her cuticles. “I heard him talking on the phone to someone about it.”

  “Oh, Maggie, I think you must have misunderstood—”

  “No!” Her head snapped up. “I. Heard. Him.” She punched her blunt index finger into the palm of her other hand to emphasize each word.

  Abby started to argue that Maggie’s uncle wasn’t going to die anytime soon, he was only in his mid-fifties after all, but stopped short. He had lost weight. He looked as if he wasn’t sleeping well. Maybe he was sick.

  She asked, “Do you know who he was talking to?”

  “No. When he saw me he got mad and told me to go in the other room and close the door.”

  Mad? Father Kevin mad at Maggie?

  “Sometimes adults make arrangements for their children… plan way ahead, just in case something unforeseen happens. Maybe he just didn’t want you to worry over nothing.”

  Maggie slid Abby a sideways glance, pressing her mouth into a line of disbelief.

  “There’s no reason for you to worry about going to Tidewater. When the day comes that your uncle can’t take care of you, there are lots of people in Preston who love you and can—”

  “I take care of Uncle Father. He told me God knew he needed someone to take care of him, that’s why He sent me.” Defiance glittered in her eyes. “I take care of Uncle Father. I can take care of myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yes, you can.” Abby agreed, deciding it really wasn’t her place to be having this conversation with Maggie. “You do a good job of taking care of all of us.”

  “Darn right.” Maggie’s gaze returned to the road ahead, her mood seeming to lighten now that she had that off her chest.

  When they arrived back at St. Andrew’s, the rectory next door was dark and the light was on in Father Kevin’s office.

  “You don’t have to walk me in,” Maggie said. “It’s raining.”

  “No problem. I need to measure for garland for the Ostrom wedding.” A good excuse for going in to have a quick word with Maggie’s uncle about Maggie’s concern.

  “But it’s late.”

  With a wink, Abby said, “Which it wouldn’t be if someone would have let Mr. Deveraux win at checkers sooner.”

  “He cheats.” Maggie opened the van door. “You can’t let a cheater win.” She slammed the door and hurried with thudding steps up to the side door of the church.

  Abby caught up just as Maggie swung open the door. The gloom pressed close in the oak-paneled hallway. A flickering shimmer of candlelight came from the sanctuary at the far end. Off to the right, Father Kevin’s office door was ajar, allowing a sliver of light to fall onto the slate floor. She could see him pace past the opening, talking on his cell phone. He appeared agitated as he disappeared from view.

  Abby had just opened her mouth to suggest to Maggie they wait before barging in on him when she heard his groan followed by a sharp bang and clatter.

  “Uncle Father!”

  Fearing his collapse, Abby rushed past Maggie, beating her through the door. Her toe hit the cell phone lying on the floor, sending it skittering across the slate.

  Father Kevin spun around, his face wet with tears, his mouth a twist of agony. “Maggie?”

  “I’m right here, Uncle Father.”

  With a trembling mouth, he raced across the room and crushed his niece to his chest. “Praise God! You’re all right.”

  “What’s wrong?” Abby’s heart began to settle back into its proper place as she slowly bent to pick up the phone.

  Father Kevin turned his face toward Abby, seemingly reluctant to release Maggie from his arms. “It’s late. You didn’t answer your cell.”

  “Oh!” Abby, her own hands shaking from the adrenaline rush, reached inside her purse. “Sorry. I forgot to turn it back on after the funeral.” She turned the phone on, its cheerful welcoming tones ringing hollowly in the room.

  Father Kevin pressed a kiss on the top of Maggie’s head and mumbled, “You’re all right.”

  “We didn’t mean to worry you,” Abby said.

  Father Kevin straightened and released his niece. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry. I overreacted—with the rain-slick roads and all.”

  As Abby handed him the cell phone, his eyes still held the glitter of agitation and his face was shiny with perspiration.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Let me get you some water.”

  “I’m fine. Fine.” He put a hand on Abby’s arm and took a step toward the office door, escorting her out. His hand was trembling.

  Maggie said, “I’m going on to the house.”

  Father Kevin’s head snapped her way. “No!” He paused. “I’ll only be another minute here. We can share the umbrella.”

&nbs
p; Maggie shrugged and flopped into the worn leather chair across from his desk.

  He walked Abby to the office door. “Thanks for taking Maggie along. She always enjoys it.” His voice had the tone of manufactured casualness.

  “They all love to see her come.” Abby didn’t have the heart to bring up the question Maggie posed on the ride home. “And she’s great company for me.”

  “She’s a special girl.” He looked toward his niece with heartbreaking tenderness. Not really surprising. Maggie could stir protective instincts even in the most callous heart.

  “Yes, she is.” Abby agreed. The sheen of perspiration seemed to be disappearing from his face. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  He nodded and put one hand on the doorknob, giving Abby a gentle nudge with his other. Clearly he was embarrassed by his behavior and was anxious to get her on her way. “Good-bye, Abby. And thanks again.”

  “Good night, Father.” Abby moved through the open door and it closed quietly behind her.

  She glanced toward the sanctuary on her way out. A dark figure huddled at the kneeling rail. Candlelight reflected the pale oval of his face. He was not bowed in prayer or gazing at the crucifix, but staring directly into the hallway where Abby stood. The instant their eyes met, he turned away and bowed his head.

  Feeling like an intruder on the man’s solitude, an eavesdropper on his prayers, Abby hurriedly headed for the side door.

  Yet another feeling ran just beneath her embarrassment, the nagging of something being off, out of place.

  She nearly turned around and went back to knock on Father Kevin’s door to make sure he knew someone was in the church. Recalling the look in his eyes as he’d hurried her out his office reinforced the fact that she was a visitor here; she needed to leave both the parishioner and the priest to their privacy.

  As Abby got in her van and started the engine, it dawned on her what had bothered her about the man in the sanctuary; he still wore his hat.

  Let Maggie get one look at that and she’d make certain the poor guy wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Jason leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed his eyes. It had grown dark nearly an hour ago. The desk lamp in his office was the only illumination in the house. He got up, stretched his arms over his head, and shut the lamp off. If he was going to eat, he’d have to go out. The kitchen was bare, as it usually was on the weeks when he didn’t have Brenna. He wondered why dining out by himself felt less lonely than grocery shopping for one. He supposed it had something to do with living in a small town; invariably, he ran into someone with whom he could have at least a passing conversation.