When everyone laughed, even the quiet, shy Charity, Seth relaxed.

He could feel Felicity watching him, but he couldn't manage to take his eyes off Missy. She had to be the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, every feature on her face perfect, and her body was bad, really bad. He hated to admit it, but the first thing he had noticed about her, after her gorgeous face and mane of blond hair, was her big b.o.o.bs. He might be a preacher's son and the grandson of a church elder, but he was human and couldn't help it if a girl's b.r.e.a.s.t.s fascinated him.

Felicity leaned against him, her long, straight black hair brushing his arm, her actions demanding his attention. When he glanced at her, he realized she was practically in his face.

"Why don't you come home with us?" Felicity asked. "Mom will fix us all lunch, and then you and I can study for our American History test together."

"I don't know." Think of some excuse other than your grandmother is expecting you to come home. Think of some excuse other than your grandmother is expecting you to come home. "I sort of promised Tyler that we'd hang out together later today." "I sort of promised Tyler that we'd hang out together later today."

"So call him and invite him over. Mom won't mind. She loves for us to have company, doesn't she, Charity?" When her sister didn't respond, Felicity punched the back of her sister's seat.

"Uh, no, Mother won't mind at all," Charity said.

"I'm going home with Charity and spending the afternoon," Missy told him. "I don't like to disturb my father when he's busy working on a sermon."

"I...uh...sure, thanks, I'd like to have lunch with y'all." Liar. You don't want to have lunch with all of them, only with Missy. Liar. You don't want to have lunch with all of them, only with Missy. "But I need to give Nana a quick call, so she won't worry. You know how grandmothers are." "But I need to give Nana a quick call, so she won't worry. You know how grandmothers are."

Seth fumbled in his pocket and managed to retrieve his phone without dropping it. Please, G.o.d, let Nana answer and not Granddad. Please, G.o.d, let Nana answer and not Granddad. Nana wouldn't give him a hard time about not coming straight home. He understood that Granddad was strict with him for his own good, just as his own dad would have been. But sometimes he wished his grandfather could remember what it was like to be nearly sixteen. Nana wouldn't give him a hard time about not coming straight home. He understood that Granddad was strict with him for his own good, just as his own dad would have been. But sometimes he wished his grandfather could remember what it was like to be nearly sixteen.

Cathy looked at the address written on the notepad: 121 West Fourth Street. This had to be a mistake. That was the address for the old Perdue house. Hadn't Mona mentioned something about that house being empty, that it had been up for sale for nearly six months? Maybe someone had bought the place, and the new owner needed interior-decorating advice, an extra service they provided at Treasures of the Past Antiques and Interiors.

"Is something wrong?" Ruth Ann Harper asked. "You have the strangest expression on your face."

Cathy forced a smile. She liked Ruth Ann, who was married to Lorie's cousin, the local First Baptist Church's minister. Ruth Ann had been working part-time helping Lorie with the antique shop while Cathy had been at Haven Home.

"No, nothing's wrong. I was just puzzled by the address. I didn't realize anyone had bought the old Perdue house." Cathy looked right at Ruth Ann. "Are you sure you wrote down the correct address?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"And Lorie told you to ask me to meet with the client at four-thirty this afternoon at this address?"

"Yes." Ruth Ann looked puzzled. "When she phoned from the auction in Fayetteville, I told her about the gentleman who had called and asked if y'all could help him with decorating his house. He said it was an old Victorian, that he was having some restoration work done on the place and he didn't know anything about decorating."

"Did he happen to tell you his name and if he and his wife would be meeting with me or...?"

"He didn't mention a wife. And come to think of it, he didn't give me his name. I think he thought I knew who he was. How, I don't know. Local gossip, maybe."

"I see. And you told Lorie which house it was? You mentioned the address to her, right?"

"Well, actually, no, I don't think I mentioned the address. I just told her what the man had said, and she told me to ask you to meet with him since she wouldn't make it back from the auction by four-thirty."

"Oh."

"Is there a problem of some kind?"

Cathy shook her head. "No, no problem at all." She checked her wrist.w.a.tch. "I'd better leave now since it's already four-twenty. Would you mind closing up today? It would save me from having to come back instead of going straight home. Seth is coming for dinner tonight."

"He's such a fine young man. So well mannered and friendly," Ruth Ann said. "He was at the house today for lunch. He came by with my girls and their friend Missy after exams. I think my youngest has a major crush on him. And G.o.d knows he'd be a wonderful influence on her. I'm afraid Felicity is going through a rebellious stage."

"Good for her."

Cathy didn't realize she had spoken out loud until she saw the surprised expression on Ruth Ann's face. Her dark eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a half-smile/half-frown, as if she was uncertain how to take Cathy's comment.

"I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about with either of your girls, not with the wonderful example you and John Earl have always set for them. I just think it's good to allow teenagers to think for themselves and for them not to always be expected to do everything their parents want them to do."

"Actually, I agree with you. Despite the slight embarra.s.sment Felicity's tattoos, outlandish makeup and black attire cause us, John Earl and I believe that allowing her the freedom to express herself will help her grow up to be her own person, a young woman we'll be quite proud of."

"You're very wise. Your girls are so lucky to have a mother like you." Cathy took the car keys out of her purse, hung the strap over her shoulder and headed for the back door. "See you tomorrow."

Ruth Ann waved as Cathy left the shop.

She paused beneath the metal canopy over the door and looked up at the gray sky. The morning's heavy rain had left puddles of standing water. The light drizzle falling now wasn't discernible to the eye, but when she walked toward her parked SUV, she felt the light moisture misting her face.

With her consent, her in-laws had sold Mark's Lexus and put the money in Seth's college fund, and they had given Cathy's ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee to Elaine, who had stored it in her garage.

"I had it serviced for you when I found out you were coming home," her mother had told her. "I wasn't sure if you'd be driving, but I a.s.sumed you would. After all, you wouldn't have left that place if you weren't completely well, would you?"

Ignoring the comment about her mental health, Cathy had simply said "Thank you, Mother," taken the keys and left. One of the many truths she had accepted while at Haven Home was the fact that Elaine Nelson would never change. She couldn't change her mother, but she could change the way she reacted to her.

Cathy slid behind the wheel, started the engine and sat there in the alley behind the antique shop. During the eight days she had been back in Dunmore, she had met and survived several challenges. Not allowing her mother to intimidate her had actually been easier than she'd thought it would be. But facing her in-laws had not been easy, nor had accepting the fact that she would have to regain her son's trust before she could fight the Cantrells for custody. One of the lesser challenges had been forcing herself to pretend she didn't hear the whispers or notice the curious stares when she attended Sunday morning services yesterday. And whenever a customer commented about her year away and how horrible it must have been in that place, that place, she simply forced a smile and told them it was wonderful to be home and back at work. she simply forced a smile and told them it was wonderful to be home and back at work.

Of all the challenges that she had known she would face and could deal with, helping the new owner decorate the old Perdue house had not been one of them.

You can do this. It's just a house. Mr. and Mrs. Reaves are both dead. Maleah lives somewhere in the Knoxville area. And Jack...

She gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled strength.

"Jackson Perdue." There, she'd said his name aloud, and the earth hadn't opened up and swallowed her. G.o.d hadn't struck her dead. "Jack." She spoke his name softly.

Cathy wasn't surprised that Jack and Maleah had sold their mother's house, considering how much they had both hated their stepfather and how quickly they had both left home when each had turned eighteen. They had returned briefly for their mother's funeral five years ago. She had caught a glimpse of them, from the back of the church, when she had slipped in and sat in the very last pew. She hadn't spoken to either of them at the church and hadn't gone to the cemetery or to the house.

Cathy put the SUV in reverse, backed up and drove down the alley to the side street. On the short drive from Main Street, where their shop was located, to West Fourth, she wondered about the people who had bought the old house. Were they a young couple, middle-aged or elderly? Were they locals or people from another town or even another state?

When she parked in the gravel drive at 121 West Fourth, she noticed the door to the carriage house stood wide open. The interior of the in-need-of-repair structure was bare to the bones. Apparently the new owners had already started clearing out things in preparation for the renovations. She got out of the Jeep and searched for the owner's vehicle, but didn't see one. Was it possible the potential client had forgotten about their appointment? If no one was here, she could wait for them, but not for long. Seth was coming to Lorie's tonight for dinner. Nothing, not even a rich client, was more important.

As she made her way to the sidewalk, her leather high heels marring up in the wet ground, she inspected the three-story house, one of several Victorian painted ladies that still graced the downtown streets of Dunmore. How dark and dreary this place looked, the gray paint peeling, the faded white shutters in need of repair, the wide porch empty. She rang the doorbell.

Seconds ticked by and quickly turned into minutes.

She rang the doorbell again.

Silence.

Apparently no one was at home. Should she go or should she wait?

Before she could decide, a sheriff's car zipped into the drive and pulled up alongside her SUV. She turned and watched as the tall, muscular man in uniform emerged from the Crown Victoria.

As he approached the front porch, Cathy's chest tightened. Her heartbeat accelerated. With slow, easy strides, he came up the walkway. His hair was darker now, a rich sandy blond, and just a tad longer than a regulation military cut. When he stepped up on the porch, he removed his sungla.s.ses, squinted and stared at her.

"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," he said, then stopped dead still when less than six feet separated them.

He was the same and yet different. Older, broader shouldered, harder. And battle scarred. The boyish smoothness of his handsome face was gone, replaced with an imperfect roughness.

"h.e.l.lo, Jack."

He stood there speechless, staring at Cathy Nelson. No, not Cathy Nelson-Cathy Cantrell, Mark Cantrell's widow. He had figured that sooner or later he'd run into her, considering that Dunmore was a small town. But he sure as h.e.l.l hadn't expected to react this way-as if he'd been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four.

As a teenager, Cathy had been a pretty girl in her own shy, sweet way. But the woman standing there, her blue-green eyes fixed on his face, her mouth open in shock as if she'd seen a ghost, was more than pretty. She was beautiful. Her long brown hair, flowing freely around her shoulders, shimmered with damp highlights caused by the misty rain. Her body had matured. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were fuller than he remembered, and she was slimmer. Not skinny, just trim.

"h.e.l.lo, Cathy."

She surveyed him from head to toe, taking in his deputy's uniform. "I-I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you and Maleah had probably sold the house."

"I thought I left my name when I called. Maybe I didn't. I guess you hadn't heard that Mike Birkett hired me as a deputy. I've moved back to Dunmore."

"Permanently?"

He nodded. "Possibly. Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"If the deputy job works out."

"Yes, of course. You've left the army?"

"Yeah."

She glanced at the porch and front of the house. "And you're going to restore this place?"

"That's the plan." When he moved toward her, she backed up as if she were afraid of him. Odd. "Why don't you come on inside and take a look? I can put on some coffee, or, if you prefer, there's beer in the-No beer. As I recall, you don't drink. Unless your tastes have changed."

She stepped out of his way as he retrieved the key from his pocket and headed for the front door. "I wasn't sure who would show up," Jack said. "I sort of thought it would be Lorie."

"Lorie's at an auction in Fayetteville."

Jack held open the front door. "Come on in."

When he noted her hesitation, he forced a wide smile, hoping to put her at ease. Apparently at least a part of the shy young girl he had once known still existed inside the adult Cathy.

"How about some coffee?" Jack asked. "We can go in the kitchen and talk. I can explain what I want to do to this old place, and you can tell me what you think."

"All right." After she entered the house, he came in behind her. Then she followed him to the kitchen. "If you'd prefer working with Lorie, we can reschedule. I've been away from the business for nearly a year, so I might be a little rusty."

She was nervous.

Was she nervous because she was alone with him or because she only recently had left a mental-rehab center and was having difficulty readjusting?

"You'll do just fine," he said. "If you'd like the job. I haven't even hired a contractor yet. What I need from you is someone who knows something about restoring and decorating historical houses, about fine antiques and things like that. I know little to nothing. I want this place to look the way it did when I was a kid, only better. Modern bathrooms, a modern kitchen..."

"The kitchen and bathrooms could be modern and yet reflect the Victorian style of the house. Claw-foot tubs in the bathrooms. A farmhouse sink in the kitchen. Cabinetry that has the look of antique furniture." Cathy's face lit up as she talked, her expression reflecting her enthusiasm about the proposed project. "This house could easily be a showplace." She glanced at him, her gaze almost timid. "Returning this house to her former glory will be expensive."

Jack grinned. "And you're wondering how I can afford it on a deputy's salary."

"I didn't mean to imply that you can't afford-"

"I've invested my money wisely," he told her. "Nearly twenty years in the army with no wife and kids, I was able to save a lot, and I made some lucrative investments over the years."

"I'm sorry. It's really none of my business."

"Let me put on the coffee. Then, if you'd like, I'll walk you through the house. You've never been inside before, have you?"

"Uh...no. No, I haven't," she lied. She had been here one other time.

Jack hurriedly prepared the coffeemaker and then began the tour of his home, taking her from room to room.

When he had phoned Treasures of the Past and set up this appointment, he had hoped Cathy would show up. Mike had warned him to stay away from her. During this past week, as he had gone over the file on Mark Cantrell's murder, he had asked Mike a number of questions and had learned about the h.e.l.l Cathy had been through these past eighteen months. The last thing he wanted to do was create more problems in her life. But he had been curious about Cathy. His Cathy. The only girl who had ever broken his heart.

Chapter Five

Father Brian hung up the telephone and immediately wondered if he had made a mistake by agreeing too quickly to his caller's request. But how could he have refused such a pitiful plea for help? Not only was it his duty to help others, but he felt a deep kinship with the oppressed, children and teens in particular, because of what he had been through as a young boy. Having been subjected to drug-addicted parents who, stoned out of their minds most of the time, had beaten him on a regular basis, he knew how truly helpless the young could feel and how hopeless their lives could be. He had run away at thirteen and lived on the streets, where he had come into contact with the vilest human beings imaginable. But a kind and caring priest in Louisville had saved his life, both literally and figuratively.

Father James had not only taught the goodness of our Lord and Savior to Brian but had shown him that goodness in action on a daily basis. Thanks to the gentle old priest, Brian had come to realize that ministering to others, especially the young, was his true calling.

"Please, you have to help me," the frightened, almost hysterical caller had said. "I can't come to you. You have to meet me. It's the only way. If you don't, I'll kill myself. I swear I will."

His better judgment warned him against meeting his caller at a public park in Dunmore this evening, but his heart insisted that he must do whatever was necessary to save a life. The wisest course of action would be to tell Father Francis, but he knew that the parish priest would advise him against going, perhaps even forbid him to go. It wasn't that Father Francis wasn't a good and caring man. He was. But he was a priest who followed the rules, who adhered to the letter of the law, so to speak.

During his brief conversation with the caller, he had done his best to persuade the woman-or was she actually a teenaged girl or boy?-to come here to the church. But no matter how sincerely he had promised protection and anonymity, she had refused. The voice over the phone had been oddly hoa.r.s.e, as if the person was trying to disguise it, but he believed the caller had been female. If a male, then his voice was alto in tone.

"No one must ever know," she had said. "If he ever found out..." She had burst into tears.

"Everything will be all right. I promise that I will meet you this evening at eleven. And I will do what I can to help you."