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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter One

A pitiful sob startled Kirsten Hansen out of her search for packing tape. She peered around the center-of-the-aisle display. There, crying her heart out, was a tiny dark-haired tot, obviously alone. Stepping around the bin piled high with bedspreads, Kirsten crouched in front of the toddler. "Have you lost your mommy, sweetie?"

"No," the child cried, her chin quivering.

Kirsten gazed around the Halloween decorated Wal-Mart store, crowded with shoppers. No frantic mom in sight. Should she pick the kid up? Take her by the hand? Or just leave her where she was and find an employee? One couldn't be too careful these days. The heart-rending wails decided the issue. Scooping the little girl into her arms, Kirsten held her close. "Don't cry, sweetie. We'll find your mommy."

"Da-dee," the tyke said around waning tears.

"It's your daddy we need to look for?"

The little girl's head bobbed against Kirsten's shoulder.

"What's your name?"

"Ope," she sniffed.

Ope, the toddler's effort to pronounce what? Kirsten should've known she wouldn't understand. Her nephew, Steve, was four and it was only in the last few months that she'd been able to understand most of what he said. She turned and started toward the customer service desk at the front of the store.

"Hope! Where are you?" A deep, resonate, anxiety-ridden voice sounded behind her. Spinning around, Kirsten's gaze beheld as gorgeous a hunk as she'd ever seen. In an instant her brain registered raven's wing-black hair, short on the sides and curly on top, dark, dark eyes, and a face shadowed by a heavy beard she'd bet was always visible even if he'd shaved five minutes before.

Hope lunged toward the man. "Da-dee."

"You scared ten years off my life, little girl." He took her and placed her in the shopping cart basket loaded with disposable diapers.

She immediate tuned up to cry again and started to climb out of the seat. "No!"

He reseated her and fastened the safety belt around her waist.

"No! No! I want down."

"You have to stay in the cart," he said, his tone exasperated. "If you wander off again we might not be so lucky to have such a nice lady find you."

Hope pulled at the mesh belt. Her determined wails drew frowns from the passing shoppers.

The man looked at Kirsten and flashed a brief smile. "Thank you. I'd better check out and take her home before her tantrum gets me arrested for child abuse."

The mention of child abuse tightened Kirsten's stomach into a hard knot. He's trying to lighten a bad moment. "Looks like a case of the terrible twos to me," Kirsten replied.

"In spades. Thanks again."

Rooted to the spot, she watched him roll the cart down the aisle, his jeans-clad backside as appealing as his front. She shook her head and sighed, annoyed with herself. She'd sworn off men, vowed to have nothing more to do with the Y chromosome sex. Still, what red-blooded woman wouldn't notice such a good-looking guy? That's all she'd done. Notice. Besides, he wore a wedding ring. Definitely off limits, even if she was interested, which she was not.

* * *

"What am I going to do?" Reverend Michael Holliman shifted his gaze from Hope napping--finally--in her playpen in the corner of his book-lined office at St. Peter's Church and stared at the picture of his late wife, willing her to give him an answer to his desperate question. "Our darling daughter is getting out of hand."

"What's the imp done now?" A male voice spoke from the doorway.

Michael swiveled in his desk chair to face his best friend among his congregation. "Quinn. Have a seat."

Quinn McAllister pulled a visitor's chair close to the desk and sat down. "I repeat. What's the imp done now?"

"Pitched a royal tantrum in Wal-Mart until I let her out of the cart--"

"Uh-oh!"

"--then wandered off. Our guardian angel was at work again. A kind lady picked her up, not some pervert. When I found her and insisted she ride, strapped in, she kicked and screamed loud enough to wake the dead."

"Sounds like a typical two-year-old."

"You can grin now that your kids are past that age."

Quinn's grin widened. "Yeah, but Steve is still young enough to pull a stunt like that once in awhile. Don't sweat it. She'll out grow it."

"The terrible twos, sure, but she's becoming spoiled rotten. I'm the only one who tells her no. I probably don't do it often enough either."

"It's hard to hang tough. Hazel and company are over-indulgent?"

"Oh, yeah. I don't know how to handle this diplomatically. The church ladies have been great." An understatement, to be sure. "I couldn't have managed to care for a newborn and do my job without their help. But this catering to Hope's every whim has got to stop."

"You need someone younger and more forceful to watch her."

"You're right... You didn't stop by to talk about Hope. Have you checked out our windfall?"

"Burton and I did a walk through. The house is old, but sound and in decent shape. We want to suggest renting it until the Committee on Missions can make their recommendation on permanent use."

"Sounds good. What are you looking at in the way of rent?"

"We figure since the church owns the title free and clear, all we need to be concerned about is upkeep and taxes. We can't add it to the tax-exempt role while we use it for rental property. I'd like to lease it to someone who needs an inexpensive place to live and who'll give it TLC."

Michael smiled. "I know that look, Quinn. Who do you have in mind?"

"My sister-in-law, Kirsten. She graduated from UNO in August, too late to get a teaching position this fall. She's subbing all over the area. It's pretty steady, but not big enough bucks to let her get a nice apartment and pay on her boat load of student loans. The place she's in is being sold out from under her."

"Mmm. I can hear Hector Smallwood bellow now. He'll say the property was willed to us for missions and allowing a single woman to live there and have wild parties is not in keeping with the terms of the will."

Quinn chuckled. "And he'll emphasize his point with his arms folded across his chest and his face fixed in a bulldog scowl." He leaned back in his chair. "If anyone deserves a break, it's Kirsten. She's lead a rough life, and she's trying hard to better herself. She's resourceful and is careful with everything she has, which isn't much. Wild parties aren't her thing. She works like one possessed. We'll tell them she's our mission project."

Michael trusted Quinn's judgment implicitly. "All kidding aside, it sounds like she's the kind of person we'd want living there. Let's handle it this way. At the meeting tonight, you make your proposal, without mentioning Kirsten. If it's accepted, I'll tell the board I'll check around for a deserving candidate. Can you have her come see me? If she likes the place and our interview is satisfactory, she can move in next week."

"Okay." Quinn rose and ambled to the door. "I'll see you tonight. Don't let Miss Hope get you down."

"Yeah, right," Michael chuckled as Quinn left the office.

Michael leaned back and sighed. Some people had a way of making a person feel better with nothing more than a smile and a friendly word. The church board chairman was one of those people. Quinn McAllister had weathered tough times himself. His gift of caring for his fellow man had helped many people, not the least of whom was Michael.

Quinn wouldn't suggest his sister-in-law if she was the type to tear a place up or fail to pay the rent. One problem on the way to solution.

Now he must figure a gentle way to ease Hope away from the dear ladies who couldn't bring themselves to discipline his daughter.

Desperation on his part and Christian caring on theirs had landed him in a pickle. He'd been in a state of shock when Elise died. Hope, a tiny preemie, needed constant attention. His congregation had rallied around them in a way someone unfamiliar with the practice of love-thy-neighbor would call unbelievable. He never would've made it without their love and support, but the time had come to change things. Hope had become the center of the lives of three women, especially Hazel Smallwood. They meant well, but he suspected their energy level wasn't enough to deal with his daughter, who plunged headlong into each day eager to explore everything that crossed her path.

He closed his eyes and prayed for guidance.

* * *

Michael locked the church following the board meeting, tired to his bones. The session had gone well, even with Hector's predictable objection. Michael grinned despite his weariness. With the skill of a master Quinn had convinced the governing body to accept his recommendation.

Michael crossed the parking lot to his aging Sable. He pitched his thick notebook on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. Catching headlights in the rearview mirror, he realized Hector was waiting to follow him home to pick up his wife. Michael backed out and wended his way through the residential streets to his house. Parking in the attached garage, he went inside, apprehension tightening his gut.

He stepped into the living room. The TV was on, its volume blaring dialogue not fit for a child's ears. A bird-like woman, her gray hair sprayed so heavily a hurricane wouldn't move one strand, jumped to her feet. "There you are, Pastor Michael. Did the meeting go well?"

"Fine, Hazel. Did Hope go to bed all right?"

"She fussed. You know how she does."

"Did you insist she stay in bed and let her fret like I told you?"

"Oh, Pastor, you know I can't stand to hear her cry. I gave her cookies and orange juice and let her play awhile. She finally fell asleep on the floor. Then I put her in bed." Hazel blinked her eyes and cooed. "That was all right, wasn't it?"

He counted ten and swallowed a very unclergy-like oath. "No, Hazel, it's not all right. Hope shouldn't have all those cookies you give her, and she needs to learn to sleep in her own bed, at bedtime."

"Oh, a cookie or two won't hurt her."

Arguing wouldn't help. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and held several bills toward her. "Hector's waiting."

Hazel pursed her lips. "Put your money away. Baby-sitting Hope is such a pleasure. I couldn't possibly take anything for it."

"I insist. If you don't want it, give it to missions or drop it in the offering plate, but the money is yours."

She huffed and jammed the bills in her slacks pocket.

He stepped to the front door while she gathered her things. "Thank you, Hazel. As always, I appreciate your help. Good night."

"Good night." She headed to the car.

Michael watched until Hector backed his old blue Caprice station wagon out of the driveway, then he turned off the porch light and set the lock. The anger he'd held in check bubbled to the surface. He hadn't lied about appreciating her help. He did, but Hazel hadn't followed his specific instructions--again. Hope was grumpy when she didn't get enough rest. Michael was almost positive the child hadn't been asleep all that long before he'd gotten home. And the cookies. Not that he had a thing against giving a kid a treat now and then, but to use them as a bribe wasn't right. He sure didn't want Hope to learn she could demand sweets or anything else before she did what she was told.

If Elise were here, she'd have a fit. A wave of sadness washed over him. If Elise were here it wouldn't be an issue.

His child needed a mother.

* * *

St. Peter's carillon played a stanza of what Kirsten assumed was a hymn on the half hour. She stood beside her car, an eight-year-old Geo Prizm, and listened, allowing the music to calm her frazzled nerves. School had been wild today. The students at Millard South High were hyped about tonight's homecoming game. It had been even harder than usual to maintain order in her classes.

To top it off, now she had to talk to a preacher. Nothing against preachers, but they weren't the kind of people she hung around. What if she slipped up and said something she shouldn't? Even after all these years, she reverted to street talk when she was scared or nervous. Quinn assured her Reverend Holliman was a nice guy. Made sense. Weren't preachers supposed to be pleasant?

Still, if this house was all Quinn said it was, it provided the answer to her problem. The only way to find out was to open the door, walk inside and talk to the minister. She took a deep breath and rushed into the church before her courage vanished.

From an office she heard the slap-slap of a copy machine. Following the sound, she paused on the threshold. A desk faced the door bearing a nameplate that read Mattie Lowe. A sweet-faced woman looked up from her task. "May I help you?"

Surreptitiously, Kirsten wiped her hands on her pants legs. "I'm supposed to see Reverend Holliman about a house to rent. Quinn McAllister sent me."

"Pastor's gone to change a diaper." She waved toward an inner office. "Go right in. He'll be back in a moment."

A diaper? Seemed an odd job for the minister. Kirsten took one hesitant step at a time into the room. The playpen full of toys in the corner startled her. He had a nursery in his office? Curiouser and curiouser.

She wandered to the window and gazed at the large Victorian house across the street. The wrap-around porch was inviting and the second story turret charming. It looked like a castle compared to most of the places she'd lived. Undoubtedly, there was more space than she needed or had furniture to fill. Quinn had been clear on that. Still, the rent was in her price range. Truth to tell, it would be nice to have more of something than she needed for once in her life.

She heard a childish giggle from the outer office.

"Out of the trash, kiddo. Let's go find your Eeyore."

That voice sent a delicious shiver down her spine. The resonate quality was marvelous, one Kirsten could listen to all day. Hadn't she heard it somewhere recently? The scamper of little feet sounded behind her. She turned around and encountered the man she'd ogled in Wal-Mart the day before. His little girl danced into the room ahead of him. Kirsten's face grew hot, and she hoped a blush didn't show on the pale skin that proclaimed the Scandinavian part of her heritage. Drawing on poise hard-won behind a hotel registration desk, she smiled and extended her hand. "Reverend Holliman? I'm Kirsten Hansen. I understand the church has a house to rent."

He took her hand in a firm shake and returned her smile. His was warm and friendly and altogether devastatingly gorgeous. She'd known her family's minister was on the young side of forty, but he didn't look like any clergyman she'd ever come across. More like a male model or a leading man.

"We meet again," he said. He waved his hand toward the window. "That's the place across the street. Would you like to see it?"

"Yes, please."

He stepped to the desk heaped with papers, books and Eeyore. Rummaging through the mess, he located a set of keys. "C'mere, Hope. You need your jacket. We're going for a walk."

"I want to go outside!" The child raced for the door.

Michael caught her by her overall straps. "Not without your jacket."

"No." Hope struggled and fussed, but he finally succeeded in getting her arms into the sleeves. He deserved a medal for his patience, Kirsten thought watching him zip up the Pooh windbreaker.

The second he dropped his hands, the toddler snatched Eeyore from the corner of the desk and bolted for the door. He grabbed his sport coat. "Let's go. Hope'll leave us in the dust if we aren't quick."

"She's precious."

"A holy terror, too." He tugged open the heavy wooden door and held it while Hope and Kirsten stepped outside.

The late September day was about as perfect as they came in Kirsten's mind--sunny and crisp, the maple tree glowing orangey-red in the bright light. A slight breeze scented the air with the spice of chrysanthemums.

They crossed the street, Michael carrying his daughter, and climbed four steps to the porch. He unlocked the door centered between two large windows facing the street. Kirsten followed him inside the empty house. It smelled musty, as if it had been closed up a long time. There was no entry. The living room seemed huge compared to the one in her studio apartment. A brick fireplace, set off by a magnificent carved mantel, dominated the west wall.

She closed her eyes, imagining curling up with a good book on an overstuffed sofa on a cold winter night in front of a roaring fire. It was an old dream from her teenage years when, as often as not, home was a cardboard box sheltered by a bridge.

Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as she moved into the dining room with a built-in mahogany hutch. The double windows faced the angled part of the porch.

"You're mighty quiet. What do you think?" Michael asked.

"It's so big. Quinn said it was big, but it's...so big."

He chuckled. "You've only seen two rooms."

"My whole apartment would fit in these two rooms with space to spare."

"Do you want to see the rest?"

"Sure." She walked through a swinging door into the kitchen. It had been updated sometime in the last ten years if the oak cabinets, Formica countertops and gleaming appliances were a fair indication. She could feed half an army in here without any trouble, except she didn't cook anymore than was necessary to keep herself going.

Michael set Hope on her feet. The toddler took off for the closest door. Kirsten poked her head into a small sunny room with an entry to both the side and back porches. So many windows! It was a good thing every one she'd seen had a shade. She could no more afford to buy curtains for all of them than she could fly. But the airy charm of the place had captivated her.

"How many bedrooms?" she asked.

"One down and four up. There's a bath on each floor and a powder room under the stairs."

"$400 a month, right?"

"Right. Plus utilities."

"I'll take it."

"Don't you want to see the rest before you decide?"

"I've decided. It's a palace. Where'm I going to find a place like this for the rent you're asking? No where. I want to live here." It was all Kirsten could do to keep from adding that the turret made her think of Rapunzel in her tower. The only thing that stopped her was not wanting to sound like an idiotic dreamer to the good reverend.

Any childish dreams she once possessed had vanished in the reality of survival on the streets of Chicago. As always, she slammed the door on the memory of those terrible years.

"It's yours, then. We have a six-month lease, then a month-by-month renewal. Quinn did explain the church is planning on using the house for a mission project, didn't he?"

She nodded. "Yes. I understand it's short term, but it'll give me a roof over my head while I find a permanent job. I'd like to go upstairs."

A funny look crossed his face. She hoped she hadn't said something she shouldn't, although she couldn't imagine what that might be. She'd managed not to slip up and use a bad word even once.

"This way." Michael crossed the kitchen. Stopping in the living room, he waved toward a door to left of the stairs. "That's the downstairs bedroom. It has a full bath in-suite. It used to be the library. The previous owner couldn't climb the stairs anymore and had it converted."

Kirsten put her hand on the banister. Pulling it away to brush a strand of hair from her face, she noticed the imprint left in the layer of dust.

"Sorry about that," Michael said. "St. Peter's just took possession last week. It's been a year since Mrs. Di Marco died. Nobody's cleaned since her family emptied the place."

Hope had already crawled halfway to the landing before Michael finished speaking. "I see what you mean about greased lightning," Kirsten said, starting up the steps. "Hey, Hope, wait for me."

The child looked over her shoulder, giggled, and kept climbing at a fast clip. Thoughts of another little girl brought Kirsten a feeling of sadness. For the second time in minutes she locked the door on memories best left in the past. She'd returned to Omaha six years ago to begin a new life. Having worked so darned hard to complete her degree in education, she intended to use it to help troubled young people as only one who'd been there could.

An old-fashioned bath was located at the top of the stairs, complete with a pedestal sink and a claw foot bathtub. The tub could easily accommodate the length of a six-foot man. She glanced back at the minister. All too easily she pictured him stretched out up to his neck in warm water without bubbles to mask his lean form. Feeling heat spread over her cheeks, she stepped back. Inspect the bedrooms, then get out of here. The way her mind was focused today, the bedrooms weren't any better than the bath.

Michael shoved past Kirsten and seized Hope just before she dabbled her fingers in the potty. "No, sweetie. We don't play in the john."

"No, no, no," Hope repeated, shaking her head.

It took effort for Kirsten to stifle the laugh bubbling inside her. The exasperated look on Michael's face was almost as funny as his daughter's antics. At least Hope had changed the line of Kirsten's wayward thoughts.

The rooms closest to the bath weren't anything special. The third had a three-window alcove overlooking the porch roof. The window seat tempted her to gaze out at the stars and dream. Nope, she'd use the downstairs bedroom and keep the upstairs closed off. No point in going to the expense of even heating the all these rooms up here.

Turning to head back down, she glanced into the last room and lost her heart. Five windows glistened in a semi-circle in the turret. As if drawn by an invisible force, she wandered to the glass. Just then the carillon began to play. Behind her, Michael began to sing along with the music. "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound..."

She focused on the square tower of the church and noticed the horn-shaped speakers arranged on a circle. One of the speakers was pointed at the window where she stood. How sweet the sound, oh yeah. The music seemed to float across the street, as if it were meant to soothe her troubled soul.

She started at the thought. What was the matter with her today? Her mind was playing all sorts of unwanted games.

Michael stopped singing. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just had a confused expression. If you're having second thoughts about the house, that's okay."

"Oh, no. I want it." Deliberately, she checked her watch. "I need to get going. How soon may I move in?"

"Not before Monday. A committee is scheduled to clean tomorrow."

"That's not necessary. I can do it."

He smiled. "I imagine you have packing to do. Let the committee handle this end and you do what you need to get ready."

He paused and turned around looking for Hope. A splash sounded from the bathroom. He groaned and took off running. Tagging along, Kirsten laughed. Hope Holliman was a handful.

Kirsten wondered why the reverend had the child at the church? It was obvious Hope was in the office frequently. How could he get any work done? Where was his wife?

It wasn't any of her concern. She'd just be a tenant, nothing more. He could do what he wanted with his little terror.

* * *

From the porch, Michael watched Kirsten drive away. Her soft scent lingered in the still air. Funny he'd notice. Whatever it was, the feminine smell suited Kirsten. She was small and delicate, her blonde hair boyishly short with sassy curls on the top of her head. Her mouth, its lower lip full, would lure even a Saint to taste. Soft summed up his overall impression of her. Soft, as in something tempting to hold and touch with a gentle hand. Her guarded eyes, an intense blue, with a merest hint of green, gave away a vulnerability she endeavored to hide.

He stopped, the key poised inches from the deadbolt. He'd noticed her, not as a person passing through his office, but one he'd inventoried, feature by feature.

He tried to remember what he'd been told about Meredith McAllister's sister. Not much beyond what Quinn had said about Kirsten having a rough life. He knew both Quinn and his wife had overcome troubled backgrounds, although he didn't know the details beyond the fact that Quinn had spent several years at Boys Town. Kirsten was a blank, one his natural curiosity concerning people longed to fill.

Yeah, right. Face it, Holliman, you noticed her, not as a landlord, not as I would a parishioner, but as an attractive woman.

It had been a long time since he'd been as aware of a woman as he'd been of Kirsten. Michael didn't welcome the awakening. Not one little bit. He had his hands full, without the distraction of a pretty woman living across the street from his office window.

He had no intention of letting her draw his attention from his flock. His job wasn't like most. It was a calling and required him to wear many hats, be many things to many people. The carillon began playing Just as I Am. Already? Where had the afternoon gone? He locked the door, hoisted Hope higher on his hip and jogged to the church. He was due at a denominational meeting in thirty minutes and he had to drop Hope off at Phyllis Kovar's on the way.

He glanced over his shoulder before heading inside. He pictured Kirsten sitting on the front porch, her long legs propped on the railing, the sun turning her golden hair into a beacon. He forced the image from his mind and hustled to his office. Heaven help him. He'd most likely just made a giant mistake.

Chapter Two

Elated by a sense of accomplishment, Kirsten shelved the last book. Done! Settled in her new home. She wrapped her arms around her waist and pivoted in a circle, surveying her domain. The old house gleamed. The church's cleaning committee had gone above and beyond what was necessary. Even the windows--all zillion of them--sparkled. Her thrift store furniture fit the house well, despite the fact that each room she furnished could accommodate other pieces without coming anywhere near crowding.

She picked up the boxes in which her books had been packed and carried them upstairs to the large storage closet. Tossing the cardboard containers in with the others, she closed the door and turned to the turret room. Her double bed, sans headboard, was covered with an old quilt she'd found at a Goodwill Store. The star pattern, pieced in shades of blue and pink, was soft and faded with age. A throw rug covered a small area of the hardwood floor beside the bed. She smiled again. Even though the lingerie chest that served as her nightstand and the chest of drawers were mismatched pieces, they coordinated nicely, thanks to the coats of white paint she'd used to hide the scared and mended wood.

Music from the church tower drifted across the street on a breeze and through the open window. She moved to the semi-circle of glass as if lured by chocolate and gazed out into the gathering dusk. Raising her arms to shut out the autumn chill, Kirsten stopped to listen. The tune brought tears to her eyes. She remembered it from the scene in the movie Titanic when the musicians kept playing while the ship sank. At the time she'd seen the film she didn't know it was a hymn. Were the lyrics as comforting as the music? Whatever the song, it gave Kirsten a momentary sense of peace.

A bright red minivan pulled to the curb and parked in front of the house. The back door slid open and sneakered feet, swinging arms and loud voices poured to the sidewalk.

"Aunt Kirsten, Aunt Kirsten, we broughted you a sprise!" her nephew, Steve, shouted.

"Don't tell, you dweeb," eleven-year-old Brett said, poking his younger brother in the ribs with his elbow.

"That's enough, boys," Meredith said, her tone calm.

Even from this distance Kirsten could see irritation written on her sister's face. Allowing her maternal instincts to flow naturally hadn't been easy for Meredith. It was Kirsten's fault, a sin for which she would never forgive herself. She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to dwell on recriminations and past mistakes.

"I'll be right down," Kirsten called out the window. She closed the sash and hurried down the steps, amused by the racket that defined the McAllister family. They were delightful children, sweet and thoughtful for the most part, although boisterous in their enthusiasm.

Kirsten flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. "This is a surprise. Come on in."

"Hi, Aunt Kirsten," Steve said. "Can I have a pop--"

"Steven," Quinn's stern-father voice came from the porch. "We do not ask for food the second we walk in someone's front door. Wait until it's offered."

Kirsten forced the grin tugging at her lips into a neutral expression. Quinn fought a constant battle with his crew over manners. The children scattered, Wynne and Brittany to the basket of stuffed animals keeping guard from the corner of the stair landing and Brett to the bookcase for the latest Harry Potter book. Steve hovered next to his father, looking like he was about to burst.

"What brings you by?" she asked.

Steve grabbed her arm. "I told ya, Aunt Kirsten. A sprise. Can I tell her, Daddy? Can I? Can I?"

"It won't be surprise, if you tell her. Now will it, son?"

"Then can I show her?"

"Quinn, quit teasing," Meredith said. "Steve's been really good not to spill the beans. Just bring it in."

"Brett, will you give me a hand?" Quinn headed for the door.

What in the world? If big, strong Quinn needed help, whatever it was must be large.

Steve thundered to the porch and held the screen. His father carried in an oak glide rocker, followed by Brett with a matching ottoman. "See Aunt Kirsten. It's a rocking chair. Works good, too. I tested it."

"I can't take that," Kirsten said. "It's too much."

Meredith strolled over and placed her arm around Kirsten's shoulders. "It's a housewarming gift."

Wynne grabbed Kirsten's hand. "It's for the round spot in your room. Mom said it was a perfect place to grade papers but you didn't have a chair. So Daddy went and bought one."

How like Quinn. His generosity was legendary. He set the chair down and patted the seat. "Come try it out before I take it upstairs."

Kirsten shook her head. "You shouldn't have done it."

"Don't you like it?" he asked. "I can take it back and get another."

"Of course I like it. That's not the point. You shouldn't be buying me furniture."

"Kirsten, you are one stubborn woman."

"Give in, Kirsty," Meredith said. "You know how Quinn is about promises. He promised himself you'd have an easy chair for the turret the minute you told him you'd signed the lease."

Kirsten's gaze moved from her sister's serene smile to Quinn's self-satisfied grin to the collective expectancy of each of the four children. Giving in to the inevitable, she sank onto the padded seat and leaned back, starting the chair in motion. It was cushy, but not too soft. Just right, in fact. No other piece of furniture in the house was as comfortable. The dusty blue covering would blend well with the colors in her bedroom. "Thank you," she murmured. "It's perfect."

Steve danced in a circle around the chair. "Can we rock in it when you read me a story? Huh? Huh?"

"Steven, calm down." Meredith caught her son by the arm. "You're wearing me out watching you."

"Ah, Mom."

Persistent as always, he crawled in Kirsten's lap and hugged her neck. "It's a good place to read a story. Right, Aunt Kirsten?"

"Oh, yes." She glanced up and caught Meredith's surreptitious tap on her watch. "But not tonight. It's getting late. There's a bag of Tootsie Pops on the kitchen counter. You may have one and pass them around to everyone."

He slid to the floor and rocketed to the kitchen. Swinging to a stop by catching both hands on the doorframe, he called over his shoulder. "Thanks!"

Meredith shook her head. "And I thought Brett was energetic."

Kirsten stood and joined her sister on the couch. Quinn and Brett headed upstairs with the new furniture, leaving the women alone for the moment. "Brett was and still is. He has more and more dignified big brother moments now that he's in middle school."

"It hardly seems possible. Wasn't it yesterday that he started kindergarten?"

Kirsten laughed. "Don't go there. You aren't old!"

"Maybe not, but it feels that way some days. C'mon. Let's go see how your new acquisition looks in its special niche."

"Sis, you guys have got to stop. I can take care of myself."

"We're well aware of that. Haven't you heard it's more blessed to give than to receive?"

"Yes. That's why I can't keep taking from you. I want to be able to give, too."

Kirsten found herself wrapped in Meredith's hug. "You give me so much by allowing me to be part of your life."

"It's not the same and you know it."

"True. What you do for me is far greater than anything I do for you."

Kirsten felt as if she'd been slapped. Nothing she could do would ever make up for the pain she'd caused her sister. As far as Meredith was concerned, Kirsten's running away and it's aftermath was over and not a subject for discussion anymore. Yet, the guilt remained, a burden she must bear alone.

Brittany's head poked over the stair railing. "Daddy says come see."

Kirsten started up the steps. "On our way, Sweetpea."

The chair looked perfect in the turret. Quinn had placed it facing the window. What an ideal place to sit and dream.

Meredith strolled over to the windows and sighed. "Michael's car is still at the church. He works too hard."

Kirsten joined her sister. "Doesn't his wife object?"

"He's a widower," Quinn said. "His wife died of cancer."

"That poor man. No wonder his office looks like a nursery."

"I don't know how he does it," Meredith said. "He needs more time to himself, but even when he takes a day off, there's always Hope needing attention." She wrapped her arm around Quinn's waist. "Speaking of which, we need to get the children home."

* * *

Still in her nightshirt and a velour robe that had seen better days, Kirsten snuggled in her new chair on Sunday morning. She couldn't get Michael Holliman out of her mind. Her heart went out to him. To lose his wife was bad enough, but to be left with a baby to raise alone must be difficult. She supposed someone as good looking as he wouldn't have trouble finding a new wife when he was ready. That is if he found a woman willing to take on a ready-made family.

That thought led her to her sister. Meredith hadn't married a man with children, but she might as well have. Quinn had inherited Brett, Wynne and Brittany while they were on their honeymoon. It hadn't been easy for Meredith, but in the end love had bound them all together.

The carillon's tune drew her gaze to the windows. As always, the all-too-brief music brought her a moment of inner peace. The McAllister's red minivan was parked in the church's lot. The whole family attended Sunday School, followed by worship. Meredith had never gone to church until Quinn came into her life.

Meredith wasn't the same uptight person Kirsten had known as a child. Whether her sister's serenity could be attributed to her terrific marriage, the successful career she'd left by choice, or her faith, Kirsten didn't know. What she did know was Meredith was happy now. It was a happiness Kirsten craved.

At Boys Town, church attendance was required, according to what she'd learned from Quinn. But nothing had forced him to continue going after he graduated except his own desire. He'd told her his faith had sustained him through some difficult times.

Kirsten rocked faster. She had never attended a church service in her life. For every invitation issued, she'd found one excuse or another to decline. The only time she would've gone was to Steve's baptism, but she'd had to work at the hotel. Was faith what was missing in her life?

She glanced out the window and watched a parade of cars turn into the parking lot across the street. Obviously the church offered something or all those people wouldn't drag themselves out of bed on Sunday morning. She'd never know if she didn't make an effort to find out.

She stood, casting one last look at the imposing brick building. Not allowing another moment to talk herself out of it, she headed to the closet. She would slip in and observe the eleven o'clock service.

Twenty-five minutes later she crossed the road, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Opening the heavy oak door, she paused before she stepped inside.

"Good morning," a white-haired lady chirped and shook her hand. "Nice to see you today."

"Ah, good morning." Kirsten forced a smile. "Where do I go for the service?"

"The sanctuary is right through there--" the lady said and gestured behind her.

"Thank you." Kirsten moved through the hall. She noticed a few people scurrying toward the double doors. The organ played over the sound of low-pitched voices.

A man stationed at the entry handed her a folded piece of paper. "Good morning," he said, and beamed a cherubic smile. "Where would you like to sit?"

She spied an empty spot on the back row. "Right here is fine."

She took four steps to the end of the pew and glanced to the front of the room. A dark wooden cross dominated the back wall. The sun shown through the stained glass windows on either side, splashing the area with jewel-like color and creating an atmosphere of tranquility. The organ music enhanced the feeling.

She noticed her family sitting on the other side of the church, toward the front. She didn't want them to know she was here. If Quinn found out, he might encourage her to come again. This was just a scouting mission, so to speak. Once would probably be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

"Good morning. Welcome everyone, especially visitors to St. Peter's."

Hearing Michael's voice, her gaze moved from the people in the pews to the man in the gray robe at the front of the church. He looked straight at her and smiled. Kirsten's mouth went dry. She could almost hear the clank of a cell door locking. It was too late to turn around and run home. She slid into the pew, wishing she could slink under the seat. Sitting on the edge of the padded bench, she opened the program, tuning out Michael's announcements. The next thing she knew all the people were standing. She jumped to her feet and fumbled with her purse and the leaflet. The man in front of her stuck his hand out for her to shake. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she parroted.

The greeting was repeated with those seated around her. How could she remain anonymous if she had to speak to everyone? Finally the people quieted and sat down. Kirsten sank to the pew and flipped open the program. Through the opening prayers and hymn, the butterflies in her stomach grew more restless. She didn't expect the offering plate. Thank goodness she had some extra cash. Slowly, as the service progressed, the fluttering eased and without realizing she'd done so, she inched along the cushion until her body relaxed against the pew back.

Michael stepped into the pulpit. "The scripture for this morning is Acts 9: 1-19, the conversion of St. Paul." He read the passage and closed the Bible. Moving to the center aisle, he spoke, his deep voice compelling her to listen.

"A young man was raised in a Christian home in a small rural community. His father was a preacher. In that town everybody knew everything about everybody else.

"The young man chafed under his parent's strictures. He refused to set a good example for his schoolmates. In fact, he did everything in his power to do just the opposite. His grades fell. He came within a hare's breath of being arrested at a wild party. All he wanted was to escape, from his parents, from the watchful town, from the scandalized parish.

"The day following graduation, he enlisted in the army. On his own at last, he was free to make his own decisions. They weren't always good, but they weren't as foolish as the ones he'd made at home. He still rejected the teachings of the church in favor of a good time.

"After about a year of service, he earned his air assault wings and was proud of himself for the first time in a long time."

Riveted to Michael's every word, Kirsten leaned forward.

"One day he rappelled from a helicopter and hit the ground wrong. His ankle broke in three places. Like Saul blinded on the Damascus road, the young man was wrenched from his previous ways. God said, 'I have a plan for your life and party animal extraordinaire isn't it.'

"The army doesn't pay people to sit around and do nothing when they suffer an injury that precludes their normal job. The young man was assigned light duty, in of all places, the post chaplain's office. Slowly but surely, Chaplain Geary, like Ananias, taught me how to live the faith I'd denied all those years..."

Michael's story hit Kirsten like an imploded building. This man, this gorgeous man, garbed in a clerical robe, was more like her than she would have imagined. How could that be? Weren't preachers supposed to be perfect?

Suddenly organ music roused her from her puzzled thoughts. She stood with the rest of the congregation. "Amazing Grace" was the only hymn she even halfway knew, yet she couldn't sing around the lump in her throat.

Michael walked past her and stopped at the door. She couldn't slip out unnoticed. Her stomach knotted. The hymn ended and Michael began a prayer. More music and the people around her began to move.

All she wanted to do was leave. She couldn't without going past the minister unless she waited until everyone left. But that meant explaining her presence to Quinn and Meredith. Given those choices, she stepped purposefully into the aisle and inched with the crowd to the door.

"Welcome to St. Peter's, Kirsten." Michael shook her hand. "There're refreshments in the fellowship hall. Please join us and I'll introduce our new tenant to the folks."

She cringed. The last thing she wanted was to be put on display. "No. I can't. I've got to get the hell out of here."

"Another time then."

Heat rose, climbing her neck and burning her cheeks. She wanted to die on the spot. Fleeing through the milling crowd, she burst out the door into the chill fall air. Damn, damn, damn. She'd sworn in church. To the preacher.

One would think a thirty-year-old would've learned to control her mouth long ago. Her tendency to cover nervousness by swearing, and sometimes worse, embarrassed her. Worse than that, it could cost her a teaching job.

* * *

Michael watched Kirsten shove her way through the groups of people visiting in the narthex, as if the devil himself was after her. He'd kept an eye on her throughout the service. It was clear she was uncomfortable in worship. Judging from the scalding color on her face, she was also mortified by her small gaffe. He wished he could follow and reassure her.

"Great sermon, Pastor Michael."

"Thank you, Gladys."

At that moment, Hope broke out of the nursery and tore down the hall toward him. "Da-dee, da-dee."

Michael stooped and picked her up. "You're supposed to wait in the nursery, Peanut."

"No!"

"She's getting so big, Michael. Hard to believe how fast they grow up."

"I know, Mary." Balancing his daughter on one hip, he turned his attention to her husband. "Good morning, Al."

The line of parishioners seemed endless today. Yet, he couldn't leave. Sunday service was his one and only contact with the majority of the congregation. He could talk to Kirsten later.

The McAllister family stopped to greet him. "I need to speak to you," he said to Meredith and Quinn. "Can you stick around a few minutes?"

"We'll be in the fellowship hall," Meredith replied.

When the last of the people cleared the sanctuary, Michael hung his robe in his office and made a beeline for the coffee pot. One sip and he knew Homer Smallwood had made the brew. It was strong enough to tar a roof. Setting Hope down to play with the McAllister kids, he joined their parents at a corner table.

"That sermon was powerful, my friend," Quinn said. "It took guts to share your story with everyone."

Meredith smiled. "I wish my sister had heard it. She seems to think church is only a place for saints."

"She did. We'll have to get her to understand a church is not a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners."

"Kirsten came to church?" Meredith sounded incredulous.

"Sure did. She slipped in the back row just before the service began."

Quinn grinned. "I'll be..."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. What do you think of asking her to help with the youth group? I work with the kids as much as I can, but they need an adult sponsor all their own."

Quinn smiled. "This sounds like one of your famous impulses."

"Don't knock my impulses, my friend. They work out more often than not."

"I'm dubious, Michael," Meredith said, frowning. "As far as I know, my sister has never been in a church before today. She doesn't know anything about our faith or the Bible."

"What better way for her to learn? The boys will come to youth group because she's a babe and the girls will come if the boys do."

Quinn chuckled. "For a pastor, you have a devious mind."

Michael sipped his coffee and grinned. "As a teacher, she's trained to deal with young people. I need the help. We can't let the kids slip away. Let's face it, there aren't many young adults in this congregation. You both contribute more than your fair share of time."

"You can ask her, but don't be surprised if she turns you down flat." The youngest McAllister zipped by Meredith's chair. She grabbed his arm. "No running inside, Steve."

"Ah, Mom!"

Hope toddled over and tugged on Michael's pant leg. "Ope wants a cookie."

"No cookies. It's lunch time."

Hope plopped down on the floor and shrieked. "No lunch. Want a cookie! Ope want a cookie now."

Michael picked her up. "No, Hope."

"Take her home, Michael," Quinn said. "I'll lock up."

"Thanks." Hope fussed and squirmed in his arms. "I'll let you know what Kirsten says."

* * *

The sun was low in the sky as Kirsten paced her living room waiting for Michael to arrive. She'd been surprised when he called twenty minutes ago and asked if he could stop by. Would he call her on the carpet for swearing in church? Or worse, would he tell her the church couldn't have a person of her low character living on their property?

The doorbell stopped her mid-stride. She yanked her gray University of Nebraska at Omaha sweatshirt over her hips and plowed her fingers through her curls. Willing her shaking hands to stillness, she opened the door. "Hello, Reverend. Hi, Hope. Come in."

Michael, his faded jeans hugging the lower half of his body, looked nothing like her conception of a preacher. Her mouth dried out like the desert at noon.

He stepped into the living room. "'Afternoon, Kirsten. I hope this isn't inconvenient."

"Not at all." It wasn't a fib. She had nothing better to do, although a forgotten appointment would come in handy right about now. Remembering her manners, she gestured to the arrangement of furniture. "Have a seat."

He moved to the upholstered chair, slip covered to match the couch, and eased onto the visibly lumpy seat. Not for the first time, she wished she could afford better furniture.

Hope wiggled to get down. "It's okay," Kirsten said. "She can't hurt anything here."

Hope's feet hit the floor the second her father slackened his hold. The little girl held her arms to Kirsten. Grinning, she lifted Hope to her hip and climbed the steps to the landing. Grabbing the willow basket of stuffed animals, she carried child and toys to the living room. "Here you go, sweetie. You can play with these while your dad and I talk."

Sitting on the couch, she faced Michael with as much courage as she could muster. "I'm sorry about this morning." The twinkle in his eyes threw her. Not allowing herself to dwell on how attractive he was she rushed on. "I wish I could say I wouldn't swear again, but I know I will. I always do when I'm tense."

"Apology accepted, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"It's not?"

"Nope. I need a favor."

Her brow knit in a frown. "What kind of favor?"

"I need a sponsor for the youth group."

"What? I know nothing about youth groups, or churches for that matter."

"You're a teacher. You know kids. We can teach you about church if you want to learn. What I need is someone to lead their weekly meetings, someone closer to their age than I have available."

"But--"

"You saw the congregation this morning. Most are on the wrong side of fifty. Don't get me wrong, they're great people, but I need someone young enough to come up with good ideas that'll keep the kids coming back."

All sorts of fun activities popped into her mind. Things she would've loved to have been able to do when she was a teenager. She shut off the flow immediately. "Reverend, I'd like to help, but I'm not the right person for the job. I'd be a bad influence."

"First, please call me Michael." He grinned. "You're making me feel old."

She shot him a small smile. "Sorry...Michael. I still can't."

"You teach school. What's the difference?"

"Has my sister told you about me?"

"No. Should she have?"

Kirsten shrugged. "I ran away from home when I was sixteen and lived on the streets for years."

He nodded. "Okay. So how does that make you ineligible to help out with the church youth?"

She couldn't believe he accepted her revelation without a barrage of questions. "I've seen things good kids shouldn't even begin to think about."

"So have I, Kirsten. So have I. I think it gives us the ability to guide young people in a better way."

"That's why I went into teaching. But I'm not a religious person. How can I teach them something I don't know? I can't even show them a good example of Christian living."

"Are you willing to learn?"

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. Glancing from Hope, happily removing the hat from a bear's head, back to the man seated in perfect ease across from her, she sighed. Was she? Wasn't that what her grand experiment this morning had been all about? Didn't she hunger for something she didn't have now?

"I guess I'm willing to try. Do I sign up for a course?"

"We have a Wednesday night adult Bible study, if you wish to come, but that's not a requirement to lead the youth. Like I said, I need someone who can relate to the kids and set a good example."

"I'm trying to tell you. I have a past. I'm not an exemplary example."

"My past isn't pretty either. That's what I was talking about this morning. Despite our mistakes, God loves us. He doesn't require perfection, only our best. You obviously think you're good enough now to teach young people, why not this?"

She stood and wandered to the window. The church across the street looked solid, like something on which she could lean. Like the man seated a few feet away. Where had that notion come from? You've sworn off men. They're nothing but trouble. Somehow, looking at Michael Holliman, her admonition rang hollow.

The music came again. By now she recognized "Amazing Grace."

"That's a beautiful hymn."

"Yes, with a mighty message. He sang along. '...that saved a wretch like me...' Those words have comforted troubled people for centuries."

She watched him edge forward in his chair, as if he intended to rise. Then he slid back and deliberately settled in, the epitome of patience. He'd asked her a question she was afraid to answer. If she were a good enough example for school kids, why not church kids? Hadn't she vowed to do everything she could to prevent young people from taking the wrong path?

"Kirsten, could you help me out? Please."

Her face revealed nothing that was going on inside her head. Having lived on the streets, she would've learned to be very careful, Michael understood. Her past, what little she'd told him, distressed him. Not because it made her a bad person, but because she'd endured what must have been a grim time. He had many questions which he decided prudent to keep to himself. If she wanted him to know the details she'd tell him. If he pressed before she was ready to divulge, she might never share any of it.

Hope plopped a bear more than half her size in his lap, followed by the jacket the toy had been wearing. Her giggle broke the silent. "Coat on."

"If I put it on are you going to leave it on?"

Hope nodded, her little face a picture of solemn promise. Michael smiled despite himself. What a faker. His daughter would have the jacket off again in two minutes flat. Still, he tugged the garment onto the bear. If it made her happy, that was all that mattered. He handed the animal back. "There you go."

He glanced at Kirsten just as a wistful expression faded from her features. Hope brought out the longing in wannabe and lonesome grandmothers. Was Kirsten a wannabe mother? "I'll...help you with the youth group."

Her words brought an abrupt halt to his speculation. He heard the reluctance in her voice and read it on her face. Yet, she agreed. He stood and forced himself not to indulge the big hug his arms ached to give. "Thank you."

"When do I start?"

"How 'bout next Sunday. We can have a pizza party to introduce you to the kids. We only have twelve teens in the congregation. Not all will come."

"Okay. I assume the youth program isn't all fun and games. Do they have a study book or something like that?"

"We're doing a video series on choices this fall. I show the film, then we have a discussion. I'm amazed by their insight sometimes."

Her warm smile knocked him for a loop. Too bad she didn't use it more often. "Teens can be pretty incredible, given the right motivation," she said.

The ring of conviction in her voice startled him. Yes, he'd done the right thing asking her to work with the kids.

"Is it okay for me to see the tape ahead of time?"

"Sure. Come over to the office when you get home tomorrow and I'll give it to you. If I show my face at the church right now, I'll get trapped and Peanut needs her supper soon."

"Peanut?"

"Hope only weighed four pounds, three ounces when she was born. One of the church ladies started calling her Peanut and it stuck."

"Whatever she's called she's a little doll."

Michael stood and corralled his daughter. "Most of the time," he agreed, his tone rueful. "Thank you for agreeing to help with the youth. You're a lifesaver."

"I'm not so sure about that, but I'll give it a try." Kirsten walked to the door and opened it. "Good-bye. Bye-bye, Hope. Come see me again sometime."

Kirsten's invitation was nothing more than a graceful farewell, but he wished it were genuine. More than that, he wished it had been addressed to him. What was the matter with him? Those kinds of wishes seemed disloyal to Elise. She'd been gone for two years. It was a long time and yet, some days his grief was still too raw to consider dating again. Besides, he barely had time to breathe, much less court a woman.

"I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," he said and stepped out the door.

Chapter Three

Kirsten drove her car into the detached garage and turned off the engine. What had she gotten herself into? All the way home she'd tried to think of a good excuse to tell Michael she'd changed her mind about helping with the church youth. Every reason she came up with smacked of running away. She'd vowed to quit running a long time ago, and she wasn't about to break that promise now.

She drew a fortifying breath and gathered her tote and purse. She'd made a commitment, and she needed to get on with honoring it. Right now. On the way out of the garage, she hit the button to lower the door, then stopped and stashed her school bag inside the screened in back porch. No other delaying tactic came to mind. Sh--. Kirsten slapped her hand against the wooden siding. No more swearing. None. You can't set a good example when garbage trips off your tongue without a second thought. I can do this. I can.

She set one foot in front of the other, and in thirty seconds she had crossed the street and was inside St. Peter's. The ring of the telephone greeted her at the entrance to the outer office. The light was off, making it obvious the secretary was gone for the day. She heard Michael speaking from behind his closed door. Now what? She wanted to let him know she was out here, but she didn't want to interrupt his call. A crash, followed by Hope's scared scream propelled Kirsten into the inner sanctum. Several books were scattered on the floor. The toddler had tears streaming down her face. Michael was trying to move around the desk to pick her up.

"I'll take her out until you finish," Kirsten said, lifting Hope in her arms.

Michael nodded, a frown creasing his forehead.

Two minutes later, he appeared in the doorway. "Could you take care of Hope awhile? Lillian Bruner fell, hit her head and broke her hip. She's headed for emergency surgery. She's ninety-years-old and terrified. I need to see her before they operate."

Hearing the desperation in his voice, Kirsten couldn't refuse. "Sure."

"Her diaper bag's in the corner by the playpen," he called over his shoulder as he reached for his sport coat. He stopped long enough to kiss Hope's cheek, then he was gone.

Hope cried and squirmed to get down. "Da-dee. Go Da-dee."

Kirsten couldn't quite describe the feeling that came over her at Michael's abrupt departure. He'd given her no instructions, no time frame about when he might be back. Yet, to be fair, his concern for his parishioner was obvious. At least he trusted her with his daughter.

"Let's get your jacket and go to my house, Miss Ope. You can play with my bear again."

"No! Go Da-dee."

"Sorry, Hope. You can't go this time. You and I are going to my house." My house. Those two words sounded so good, even though Kirsten knew the house would never be her permanent home.

Her pleasant thoughts evaporated in the struggle of the moment. How could such a simple chore as slipping two arms into a pair of sleeves become an all out war? Determined to win this round, Kirsten kept at it until the zipper was pulled up to Hope's chin. She hoisted her charge on her hip and picked up the diaper bag. "You, Miss Ope, are being a prize pill. When you act like that it's hard to remember I thought you were a little doll."

"No."

"Is no your favorite word?"

"No."

Despite herself, Kirsten laughed. She turned off the light and closed the office. She stepped outside and stopped. "I don't have a key, Hope. It's supposed to be pretty safe around here, but I don't feel comfortable leaving the building unlocked."

In fact, the South Omaha neighborhood was safer than many other older areas of the city, according to a recent article in the World Herald.

"I guess it'll be okay. The Reverend--" Kirsten carefully didn't refer to Daddy "--can take care of it when he gets back." It was after five. She had a cranky child on her hands, who would only get crankier without her supper.

Which presented another dilemma. What did Hope eat? Meredith would know. "C'mon, kid. I need to talk to my sister."

* * *

Hidden in the shrubbery a young man and a young woman watched until the lady and the kid were safely inside the house across the street. He grinned at his companion. "Told you. It'll be okay now."

"It's not right, Jason."

"Tiff, you can't stay out here. You can't. It's supposed to frost tonight. You're already shivering. C'mon. We're not going to hurt anything."

A gust of chill autumn air penetrated her threadbare jacket. She shivered and blew on her cold fingers.

He extended his hand. "Please. How else can I keep you safe?"

She sighed, slipped her hand in his and darted to the welcome warmth of the church.

* * *

An hour later, Kirsten stared at her once spotless kitchen floor, close to tears. Her nieces and nephews combined didn't give her as much grief in a day as Hope Holliman had in the last sixty minutes. Macaroni and cheese, peas and applesauce were dropped in blobs around Hope's chair and were flung as far as the stove. Milk puddled at Kirsten's feet. The little girl's face was an angry red and splotched from crying.

"All right, young lady." Kirsten set the plate in the sink. "If you didn't want to eat, all you had to do was say so."

"No!"

Okay, so tying Hope into the chair didn't go over so well. Steve never minded being tied in, at least as long as he had food in front of him.

"Cookie?"

"No, ma'am. You didn't eat your supper."

"Cookie!"

"I'm sorry, Hope. You can't have a cookie." Kirsten wet a clean dishcloth and began to wash the baby's face and hands.

"No," she shrieked, twisting and turning.

If this was an example of Hope's behavior no wonder Michael looked like he'd reached the end of his rope sometimes. "Let me wash your face."

Hope kicked out, catching Kirsten's breast.

"Ouch! That hurt. We don't kick people in my house. And we don't throw food on the floor either. You're going to time out." She had no idea if time out would work on a two-year-old, but she wasn't about to let the kid misbehave without recourse. Kirsten untied the dishtowels, lifted Hope from the phone books stacked on the chair and took her to the bottom step in the living room. "You will sit there for five minutes," Kirsten said in her sternest teacher's voice.

Hope turned and started to crawl up the stairs. Kirsten grabbed her arm and scooted her to the wall, then stood over her so she couldn't move. The minutes ticked off as if each were an hour, with Hope screaming and kicking the whole time. One minute into Hope's punishment, Kirsten questioned herself. First of all, she didn't have Michael's permission to discipline his daughter. Secondly, with Hope's hollering, she wasn't sure who was suffering most, child or sitter. Refusing to give in to temptation, Kirsten stuck it out. The second the five minutes was up, she moved aside.

Hope stopped crying and raised her arms, her face a study in pathos. She sniffed, her shoulders quaking in a shudder. "Up."

Who could resist such drama? Kirsten lifted the toddler and hugged her close.

"Are you going to be a good girl now?"

"No." Nuzzling Kirsten's neck, Hope sighed as if perfectly content. She rubbed her eye with a chubby fist. Recognizing the sign of a worn out child, Kirsten found the diaper bag. No pj's, but there was a clean set of clothes.

"Time for a bath, Miss Ope." Please don't make this another battle. I'm as tired as you are.

* * *

From her chair in the turret, Kirsten glanced at the lighted numerals on her clock radio. Ten-eighteen. Where was Michael? The surgery must be taking a long time. Her gaze shifted to Hope sleeping soundly, comforted by her pacifier and Kirsten's big bear, in the middle of the double bed. At least the bath had gone well, until time to wash the applesauce out of the kid's hair. Her tantrum had lasted until the rinsing was done. Once they'd rocked through a picture book of Peter Rabbit, Hope had gone to sleep without another whimper.

Watching Hope now, so still and peaceful, a wave of sadness and regret caught Kirsten off guard. Would her daughter have been as sweet as Hope could be sweet or as ornery as the tyke frequently acted? The thought of Kirsten's own child, stillborn all those years ago, felt like a blow to her stomach. If only... Nothing could undo her past mistakes. She knew that. All she could do was go on and piece her life together as best she could.

A large part of her new start was her chosen profession. Good teaching required dedication. Part of being dedicated was the stack of half-graded pop quizzes sitting in her lap.

She was assigned to the same school all week, filling in for a teacher who had a death in the family. One history class had tested the sub to Kirsten's limit, thus the quiz. So far, they were as bad as she expected.

A short time later, the doorbell broke the silence. She set the papers on the floor and tiptoed to the hall, then ran down the steps. Through the side light panel, she recognized Michael and opened the door. "Hi," she said. "Come in."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so late." His dark eyes lacked their usual sparkle and his shoulders drooped. "A neighbor of Lillian's called her daughter in Des Moines. She arrived before I left, frantic about her mother. I couldn't walk out when she begged me to stay."

"Is Lillian going to be all right?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. The surgery went well, but complications can develop quickly in someone her age."

"I hope she gets along okay. Did you get supper?"

"No."

"I'll fix you a sandwich. While I'm getting it ready, you'd better lock the church. I didn't have a key."

"Oops." He turned to the door.

"Ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly?" she called after him.

"Either. I'm so hungry I don't care. I'll be right back."

Kirsten started to the kitchen, but made a detour upstairs. Hope was in a double bed and most likely wouldn't fall out. On the other hand, if the tyke still slept in a crib at home, she was used to rolling around without any concern. Checking seemed a good idea.

Pausing in the hall, Kirsten grinned. Her charge was sprawled just like she'd been when Michael rang the bell. Kirsten headed downstairs.

Michael tapped on the glass panel and came in. "All taken care of."

"I just checked on Hope. She hasn't moved since I came down the first time. Come into the kitchen."

Kirsten led the way. "Sorry about the mess. I was afraid to leave Hope alone upstairs until she was sound asleep. By then I was in the middle of grading papers and forgot."

Michael stepped around Kirsten and whistled. "Looks like the results of a major tantrum," he said grabbing a handful of paper towels. "I'll clean this up while you make the sandwich."

She opened the refrigerator, pulled out the fixings and set everything on the countertop. "Colossal is more like it. When she kicked me, I decided enough was enough. Michael, I apologize if I did something you don't approve of, but I put her in time out."

"You what?"

Kirsten's heart sank. He was angry. She shouldn't have done it. "Time out."

Michael jumped up and caught her around the waist, twirling her in a circle. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Put me down, you nut."

He made another circle and set her on her feet, but instead of letting go, he caught her in a tight hug. "I can't believe someone actually made her behave."

It had been so long since a man had held her she'd almost forgotten the wonderful feeling. Before she could dwell on the sensation, he let her go. It was all she could do to suppress a sigh. "I wish I could say I'd managed that," she said, turning back to the counter. "All I did was make her sit on the step for five minutes because she was naughty."

"Thank you. None of the ladies who watch her believe in discipline of any kind. If she so much as whimpers, they cave. She's getting out of hand." He stooped and wiped up the last of the spilled food. "How did you keep her in one place for five minutes?"

"I sat her against the wall and stood over her so she couldn't move. She was not a happy camper, let me tell you."

"I can well imagine. For the record, any time you have her around and she misbehaves, I want you to correct her."

Does that mean he's going to ask me to baby sit a lot? She set the sandwich on the table, disappointment settling around her heart. Why did it bother her that he seemed to see her only as someone to help with the youth and his daughter? That was all she wanted, wasn't it?

* * *

Michael tucked the blankets around his daughter and stood watching her sleep. In the soft shadows of the nightlighted room, she looked like an angel, her curls a dark halo on the pillow. Looks were deceiving. She'd given Kirsten a bad time tonight.

A smile tugged at his lips. At last he'd found someone who wasn't afraid to discipline Hope when she misbehaved. Someone on whom he could depend. Someone who--

What was he thinking? Just because he'd dragooned her into keeping his daughter in an emergency didn't mean Kirsten had signed on as Hope's babysitter. His problem wasn't Kirsten's. She had a life of her own.

But, maybe if he didn't ask too often, she'd be willing to help once in awhile.

He'd found himself thinking about her sad blue eyes more often than he liked to admit. At unguarded moments she wore a hurt puppy look. It brought out his need to help his fellow human beings, that essential part of him that compelled him into the ministry.

Basic honesty forced him to admit he saw Kirsten as a beautiful woman, not just as one of his parishioners. The knowledge chilled him. It smacked of disloyalty to Elise, even though he knew if he were counseling himself, he would advise easing back into socializing with friends. He'd been on autopilot for two years.

Michael shook his head. How was he supposed to pull off such a feat? His congregation comprised of mostly older people who required his attention. Between hospital visits, countless meetings, preparing the weekly Bible study, the adult Sunday School class and worship services, he barely had a moment to himself.

Sometimes the reality of his obligation to his flock threatened to overwhelm him. His church was old but small, struggling to grow in an area that had been settled by Italian and eastern European immigrants in Omaha's infancy and remained a mainly Catholic neighborhood. Although he never once questioned his call to ministry, at times he wondered if a small parish with a lone pastor was the right place for him, especially as a single parent.

He bowed his head and prayed for guidance.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Kirsten stood in the turret, watching through misty rain for Michael's car. Gazing out the window had become a habit, but today she had a legitimate reason. As soon as she spied his white Sable turn into the parking lot, she grabbed her raincoat and the video for today's youth group lesson. She dashed across the street before she could talk herself out of it.

Was she dressed right? She wanted to appear friendly without looking like a stiff-necked authority figure, yet she didn't want to look like one of the kids. Her meager wardrobe limited her choices. After much thought, she'd settled on camel slacks and a navy turtleneck without the blazer she added for school.

Kirsten crossed the street and followed Michael into the church. "Hello," she called from the entrance.

Michael poked his head around the outer office door. "Hi."

"Where's Hope?"

"I left her with Hazel Smallwood. She begged to watch Hope during Youth Group."

"Oh." That was all Kirsten could think to say. She hadn't been able to get the feel of his hands on her waist out of her mind. Now she faced fifteen minutes sans chaperone with a man she found too attractive for her own comfort. Get real, Kirsten. The pastor wouldn't do anything unseemly, even if she invited it. Which she most certainly would not. Concentrate on the meeting.

"Let's go down to the youth room and set up," Michael said.

With a longing glance at the outside door, Kirsten followed Michael to the basement. He flipped on the light in a square-sized classroom filled with battered, mismatched couches and dozens of pillows. The walls were decorated with murals of Biblical scenes.

"The paintings are impressive."

"The group did them. Mario Hernandez drew the pictures and the rest of the kids filled in the color."

"He's quite talented."

A voice coming from the direction of the stairs interrupted them. "Yo, Preach! The pizza guy is here."

Michael grinned and headed out the door. "Set up the VCR, will you? I'll be back in a minute."

Kirsten positioned the TV cart at the front of the room and popped the tape into the player. What had she gotten herself into? How could she, who had attended worship only twice in her life, possibly lead a church group? As she straightened, her hand brushed the top of the TV.

Warmth seeped into her skin.

Strange. That meant the set had been turned off such a short time ago it hadn't cooled. She could've sworn she'd seen Michael unlocking the front door as she crossed the street.

Suddenly the room filled with pushing, shoving, laughing teenagers. She wiped her palms on her slacks as she turned to greet them.

What had seemed a crowd became a silent quintet. Kirsten mentally squared her shoulders. "Hi."

"Hi." A girl with wire-rimmed glasses addressed her own feet.

"Yo!" A dark-skinned young man swaggered forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Mario."

Kirsten shook his hand. "The artist."

His infectious grin rivaled Tiger Woods. "That's me."

"You do good work."

A throat cleared loudly. Kirsten twisted to see Michael framed in the doorway, a pack of kids behind him.

"With help from my friends," Mario added.

Michael stepped into the room. The kids surged around him. "Before we eat, I want to introduce you to your new youth leader." He moved to Kirsten's side and put his hand on her shoulder. "Gang, this is Kirsten Hansen. She lives in the big house across the street. She's going to be working with the group this year. Let's go around the room and introduce yourselves."

The eight young people said their names but few registered in Kirsten's mind. How could she concentrate when Michael's hand sent tingling heat to her shoulder? The last boy finished speaking. She pulled her thoughts back to the group. "I'm very glad to meet you all," she said, mentally stepping into teacher mode. "You'll have to remind me of your names until I get to know everyone. Please call me Kirsten."

Michael took her hand. "All right everyone. Join hands and we'll say grace."

The moment "amen" left Michael's lips, Mario dashed for the door. "Last one to the fellowship hall has to clean up."

The kids devoured the food in ten minutes. All that remained was a small serving of salad and two dinky squares of pizza. Kirsten wrapped the leftovers and started for the refrigerator.

"Throw it away," Michael said.

"But, it's perfectly good." After all this time, it still hurt to discard edible food. For too long she hadn't known if she'd have a next meal.

"Then take it home with you. It'll just spoil here. The ladies who take care of the kitchen will be on my case."

"We couldn't have that now, could we?" She grinned and set the packages in the refrigerator. "I'll get it on my way out."

Michael herded the kids back to the youth room and turned on the VCR. He found a folding chair at the back of the room. Kirsten sank down in the chair next to him.

"You game for leading the discussion when the film is over?" Michael asked in a whisper.

She nodded and reached in her pocket for the notes she'd made after previewing the lesson. "I...guess so. I have to start sometime."

The video ended. Kirsten strode to the front of the room and turned the set off. Gazing at the kids, she realized they ranged from junior high through high school. As a stranger, it wouldn't be easy to get them to respond to her.

"In the story," she began, "Jimbo had several options." Using a technique she practiced everyday at school, she made eye contact with each person in the room. "He could have tattled on his sister. He could have done her chores for her and never said a word. Or he could have done them and lorded it over her for helping her out. Why do you think his choice was good or bad?"

Expected silence. Ah, sh...shoot. The only name she could remember was Mario, the one who'd talk anyway once they warmed up. She caught the gaze of a boy sitting on the floor, hugging a pillow between his chest and drawn up knees. She nodded to him. "What do you think? Tell me your name again, please."

"Eric. Ah... I guess he did okay. Like it's not cool to rat, even if it's your dumb sister."

One of the older girls spoke up. "But he made himself sound like such a big cheese. That wasn't right."

"What would you have done in the same position?" Kirsten asked.

"I would've just done the chores."

"Yeah, but you're a suck-up," Mario said.

Ut-oh. That kind of behavior must stop. "Mario, is name-calling an appropriate choice?"

The brash young man looked sheepish. "Sorry."

Kirsten could see an expectant look on most of the faces. What more did they want? She sought Michael's gaze.

He smiled and stepped around a couch to stand next to her. "Can anyone think of a scripture passage that fits this situation?"

Oh, that's what was missing. Kirsten stuffed her notes back in her pocket. Church group. Of course they needed to bring in the biblical angle. Next week she'd remember. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Remembering was one thing. Having the knowledge to support or refute any passage mentioned was another entirely. What had she gotten herself into?

"Can we sing now, Pastor Mike?" a girl named Amy asked.

"Sure. Would somebody get my guitar? I left it in my office." He turned to Kirsten. "We'll have to move to the fellowship hall. There's a piano in there."

"Does one of the kids play?" she asked following the crowd.

"Yes. Amy. Zach plays the drums when he's here and remembers to bring them."

"Tell me again the name of the blond girl with glasses. The shy one."

"That's Jenny."

"Do we have song books?"

"In the cupboard in the far right corner."

Kirsten quickened her step. Entering the large room where they'd eaten earlier, she spotted the girl she'd asked about standing on the fringe of the group. Kirsten headed straight to the teen. "Would you please get the song books from the cabinet and pass them out, Jenny?"

She blushed and her face transformed into a tentative smile. She didn't say a word, but turned and did as she was asked.

Eric handed Michael an acoustic guitar. He positioned himself next to the piano and began to play. "Shine, Jesus, Shine," he said. Amy joined in and everyone raised their voices in song.

The songs weren't like those Kirsten had heard from the carillon or during the two worship services she'd attended. This music was upbeat and invited clapping hands. The drums Michael mentioned would've added a lot. She sang along, a feeling she couldn't begin to describe welling inside her.

Kirsten heard the door open upstairs.

"One more," Michael said.

"Like the Deer," Jenny said so softly Kirsten wasn't sure Michael had heard her.

"Page 6," he said, playing the lead in.

The last melodic strains drifted away. Michael leaned the guitar against the piano. "Let's close with prayer."

Kirsten bowed her head with everyone else, adding her own silent thanksgiving that the meeting had gone well. It seemed strange to pray and yet, it felt good. That gave her something else to think about.

Lost in her own thoughts, Kirsten sensed someone standing beside her. "Hi Jenny."

The girl blushed. "I-I just wanted to th-thank you for being our leader."

"I'm glad to be here." With sudden clarity, Kirsten realized that wasn't a white lie. The group was an interesting mix of personalities, one she would enjoy getting to know. She smiled at Jenny. "I'm looking forward to a fun year. See you next week?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jenny left, her face still beet red.

"Well done, Kirsten." Michael said from the cabinet where he stacked the songbooks. "You managed to get a whole sentence out of our shy Jenny."

"I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. You made her feel a part of the group. I've never managed that, no matter how hard I've tried. And I like the way you handled Mario. That superior attitude needs to be reined in. I'm glad you weren't tentative about it."

"Thanks. They're going to keep me on my toes. Could I get next week's tape now?"

"It's upstairs."

They climbed the stairs in silence. Kirsten tried to figure a way to ask to borrow a Bible. Even if she could bring herself to ask, she didn't know how to use it. They stepped into Michael's office. The shelves were lined with a large selection of theological tomes. She felt hopelessly ignorant, too ignorant to lead a bunch of vulnerable youth. What she'd told Jenny was true. She was looking forward to a good year with the kids. Which meant big time learning on her part.

So what did she do now? Confess to the preacher her nearly total lack of knowledge or...or...

Ask Quinn and Meredith. They could help her.

* * *

On Monday, Kirsten stopped at the McAllister's on her way home from her teaching assignment for the day.

Steve answered her knock on the door. "Hiya, Aunt Kirsten! Whatcha doing here?"

"I came to see your mom," she answered, catching the little boy in a big hug. "Is she home?"

"Yep. M-o-o-om! Aunt Kirsten's here."

Meredith appeared at the top of the stairs, jersey and shin guards in hand. "How many times have I told you not to yell, Steven? Please go find your brother and tell him it's time for soccer practice."

"Br-e-e-t-t!"

"Steven. Go find your brother. Quietly." Shaking her head, she started down the steps. "Hi, Kirsten. What brings you by?"

"Do you have a Bible I could borrow? I can't buy one until payday."

Meredith looked startled, then blinked. Mist from her eyes?

"Ah...of course. They're in the study." She entered a room at the front of the house. "We have several versions. What do you need?"

"I have no idea. It's apparent I need one to lead the youth group discussions."

"Mmm. Try this--" Meredith pulled a leather covered book from a tote bag on the desk "--study Bible. I particularly like the explanations."

"Isn't this the one you use?"

"I have others. Don't sweat it." Meredith glanced at her watch. "I hate to rush off when you just got here, but I have to run carpool for soccer."

"That's okay. I need to get home anyway."

Together the sisters walked to the front door. Kirsten hugged Meredith good-bye. "Thanks for the loan. I'll bring it back at the end of the month."

"Keep it as long as you need it. Don't be a stranger."

Driving into Omaha, Kirsten stomach growled. Mentally reviewing the contents of her refrigerator, she decided on must-go, Meredith's name for leftovers. There was the salad and pizza from last night and a bit of a casserole. Wait. She didn't remember bringing the pizza home last night. She certainly could make a meal without it, but Michael had been insistent she not leave food in the refrigerator at church. If there was still someone there, she'd run down and pick it up.

She turned onto her block and noticed the secretary's car still in the parking lot. Kirsten parked by the door and hurried inside. She stuck her head in the office and spoke to the secretary. "Mattie, I left something downstairs yesterday. Is it okay if I go get it? I won't be a minute."

"Go ahead. I'm not quite ready to lock up."

"I'll let myself out the kitchen door. It'll lock automatically, won't it?"

"Yes, it will, and bang loud enough that I can hear it up here."

Kirsten ran to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Her wrapped food wasn't there. No big deal unless someone had fussed at Michael about it. She turned to the door, pushed the panic bar, and walked through. The heavy metal door clanged loud enough to wake the neighborhood. She pulled on the handle and made sure the latch was secure, then climbed the steps to the parking lot.

* * *

Friday morning, Kirsten awakened with a start. Six-twenty. She'd overslept. Nor had the phone rung. Unless she received a call in the next few minutes, she'd have the day off. She'd welcome the time to herself, except that meant a day without pay. She couldn't afford many of those. Staring at the telephone, she willed it to ring.

And if it did, she wouldn't have much time to get ready. She hopped out of bed and staggered to the bathroom to put on her make-up. Before she finished her hair, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted up the steps. Thank goodness for the automatic timer.

She raced downstairs, poured a cup and carried it back to her room to dress. The music played, drawing her to the window. Coffee in hand, she gazed across the street at the church. Out of the corner of her eye something caught her attention. Leaning forward, she peered into the gray of first light.

A young man stood by the side of the building away from the parking lot looking around as if he were keeping watch. From this distance it was hard to tell, but it appeared the window was open. What did he plan on stealing? Quinn had said they never left money in the church, but there were other things of value.

Another person crawled out the window. Guessing by the long hair, it was girl--an empty-handed girl, wearing a jacket that appeared at least two sizes too small. The boy closed the glass. He took her hand and they slipped into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

Kirsten sipped her coffee. If they weren't stealing, what were they doing? Obviously those kids had been inside St. Peter's. Considering it was a locked building, they were trespassing.

There was something much too familiar about the whole scene. Unless she was very much mistaken, and she'd be willing to bet she wasn't, those kids were homeless, possibly runaways, and had spent the night in the dry, warm shelter of the empty church.

That could explain the missing food, even the warm TV.

She should call Michael. She glanced at the Bible on her nightstand. Yes, she should.

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