The Parson's Waiting Read online

  She caught him glancing over at her as they pulled into the parking lot in front of one of those hardware superstores. It was right next door to a giant Wal-Mart.

  “There’s no need to come with me, if you have shopping you’d rather be doing,” he offered.

  “Then which one of us will explain to Maisey that we don’t have any wallpaper?”

  “I can choose.”

  She glanced critically at his blue plaid shirt and olive green khaki pants. “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, fine. Suit yourself. But I don’t want to spend the whole damned afternoon in here. If you’re planning to get all fussy over choosing paper, then we’ll just have to take home samples.”

  Anna Louise rolled her eyes heavenward and prayed for patience. “I’ll lay you odds that I can select a wallpaper faster than you can settle on paint for the barn.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you supposed to gamble?”

  “Worried about my soul?”

  “Just checking.”

  “It’s not gambling if it’s a sure thing.” Her gaze clashed with his, daring him to back down. “Is it a bet or not?”

  “What are the stakes?”

  “The winner gets to pick the movie. The loser has to pay.”

  He nodded. “You’re on.”

  Inside the door of the superstore, they separated like two people charging out of a starting gate. What Anna Louise had failed to mention was that Maisey had shown her at least half a dozen home decorating magazines with pictures of exactly the kind of wallpaper she wanted to redo the house in, if she ever had the time. Those very same pictures were currently tucked in her purse.

  Not that she needed them. As Maisey had said earlier, Anna Louise knew exactly what Maisey liked, because their tastes were incredibly similar—old-fashioned, bright and cheerful. The only exception had been the subdued stripe in beige, navy blue and burgundy that Maisey had picked out for Richard’s room. Anna Louise was tempted to pick out something a little wilder, just for the pure perversity of it.

  She zeroed in on the wallpaper section and began making choices, loading up her cart with the appropriate number of rolls for each room based on the careful measurements Maisey had given her.

  A half hour later she was finished. She wheeled the cart over to the paint section, grinning as she spotted Richard engrossed in conversation with a salesclerk. There wasn’t so much as a brush or roller in his shopping cart. The young clerk looked as if he were at the end of his rope.

  Richard regarded her with an expression that was entirely too smug, given her victory. “Couldn’t make up your mind after all, I see,” he said, gesturing at the assortment of paper.

  “Oh, I made up my mind, all right. I’m through.”

  “You have six different papers there.”

  “Exactly. The floral is for the parlor. The soft blue stripe is for the dining room. The yellow and white is for the kitchen. This other stripe is for your room. The old-fashioned pink is for Maisey’s and this last one is for the bathroom. I figured we might as well get everything at once.” She smiled cheerfully. “Where’s the paint?”

  He seemed to take her victory in stride. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he hadn’t settled on a thing.

  “We were just discussing that,” he explained. “John here is recommending the white flat outdoor paint that’s on sale. I think it makes more sense to go with the more expensive one that has a longer warranty.”

  Anna Louise bit back a laugh. “You haven’t even chosen the brand yet?”

  He scowled at her. “It’s an important decision.”

  “Of course it is,” she soothed. “We used the more expensive brand on the church last year. It does seem to be withstanding the weather exceptionally well.”

  Richard nodded. “Then that’s it. We’ll take that one.”

  “How much?” the clerk asked, turning a grateful look on Anna Louise.

  Richard’s gaze flew to the gallon cans. “How much?” he repeated doubtfully. “A couple of gallons, I guess.”

  “More like five or six, minimum,” Anna Louise corrected casually. “We used something like ten to do the church and parsonage. The barn’s smaller, but the wood is badly weathered. It’ll probably absorb most of the first coat. You’ll need two coats.”

  “Who’s doing this job, you or me?” he grumbled.

  “You, of course,” she said at once. “I was just trying to be helpful. I doubt you’ve had many opportunities to paint the past few years. I did the parsonage and helped with the church. I enjoy it. It relaxes me.”

  “Then I’ll expect to see you tomorrow morning. Bring along an extra ladder,” he suggested.

  “Sorry. Church circle is in the morning. The ladies are making quilts to send to AIDS babies in the hospitals around the country.”

  He regarded her with an amazed expression. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Theirs, of course.”

  “I’ll bet,” he muttered, but he was regarding her speculatively. “Something tells me you could sweet-talk a person into doing just about anything you had a mind to.”

  “I’d like to think my powers of persuasion are well honed,” she agreed. “Now, about the trim on the barn. Dark green would look wonderful.”

  “I was going to paint the whole thing white this time.”

  Anna Louise shook her head. “Maisey and I saw a green and white barn over toward Orange one day. She commented then on how lovely it was. Said it reminded her of the way her place had been when your grandfather was alive.”

  A look of resignation on his face, Richard turned to the clerk. “A gallon of green paint, too.”

  “Forest green, moss green or lime?”

  Richard looked to Anna Louise.

  “Definitely forest green,” she said.

  “Is that everything, then?” he inquired dryly.

  “I’d say it’s enough to keep you busy for the next month.”

  “Trying to keep me out of trouble, Pastor?”

  “I did wonder what mischief you’d get into if left to your own devices,” she teased.

  The look Richard directed at her sizzled straight through her. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the sudden leap of her heart.

  “You don’t want to know, Anna Louise,” he said solemnly, his gaze never wavering. “You definitely don’t want to know.”

  Unfortunately, she had a very vivid idea and it scared the tarnation out of her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Anna Louise Perkins was certainly full of surprises, Richard decided, when he finally allowed himself to recall their last encounter in graphic detail. As he’d taunted her in the middle of the hardware store, there had been no mistaking the glint of fascination sparkling in her eyes.

  He tallied the evidence—the faint flush in her cheeks, the slight curve of her mouth in what might have been the beginning of a smile. That warning he’d given her, that she didn’t want to know what was on his mind was the closest he’d come to one of his flip, flirtatious remarks.

  Her reaction was all the more disconcerting because he suspected a woman in Anna Louise’s position had perfected the art of the withering glance. What he didn’t comprehend was why she hadn’t directed such a look at him. To his way of thinking, that failure to put him in his place made spending time around her doubly dangerous.

  Because the first thing he knew, he’d be testing the limits. It was second nature to him. It had taken all of his willpower to get through dinner and a movie that night without stealing a simple kiss.

  Heaven help him if she’d suddenly taken it in her head to test her own limits, as well. She wouldn’t be the first woman who had, but surely preachers didn’t do things like that, he reassured himself. For all of her outspoken certainty about the goodness of people, Anna Louise had clearly never run across a persuasive man whose intentions weren’t entirely honorable. If she’d been living as pure a lifestyle as he imagined, any experimentation would likely send them both up in flames
.

  He wondered about the quirky sense of fate that had plunked a woman like Anna Louise in his path. Perhaps it was simply some sort of divine test. So far he’d passed, but by the slimmest of margins. Anna Louise might credit everyone with the potential for sainthood, but he knew better, especially about himself.

  Over the past few years he had learned to take comfort and passion where he could find it. The women he’d known had shared that terrible sense of desperation that made two people cling to one another through long, lonely, frightening nights without sparing a thought for tomorrow. Anna Louise, to the contrary, was all about tomorrows.

  It was fortunate, he told himself as he slapped the first coat of paint on the side of the barn, that she wasn’t his type at all. She was bossy, for one thing. Smug, for another. And she was too damned insightful. She’d been able to read him from practically the first moment they’d met. A man needed the comfort of knowing that some of his secrets were safe. With Anna Louise that wasn’t likely. If she didn’t guess them, she’d wheedle them out of him.

  Fortunately he had recognized right off—okay, not in the orchard, but right after he’d seen her behind that pulpit, anyway—that they were about as suited as oil and water. Just as fortunately, she didn’t strike him as the sort of woman who was looking for a man to fill in the empty space in her life. She might be looking to add a little spice to her humdrum existence, but the bottom line was that Anna Louise was downright self-contained.

  Frankly, he found that to be one of the most disconcerting aspects to her personality. He’d known a lot of independent women in his time, but none had radiated quite the same self-awareness and contentment that Anna Louise projected. He was hardpressed to define the difference, but he suspected it had something to do with being spiritually centered the way she was. Her faith was strong and, as far as he knew, had never been sorely tested as his had been time and again.

  That unshakable faith, of course, was something he didn’t expect ever to understand. He had a better chance of grasping quantum physics.

  Giving up even a passing attempt at figuring out what made Anna Louise tick, he forced his attention back to painting. He was glad now that Anna Louise had prodded him into buying more paint than he’d thought he needed. The wood was slurping it up faster than he could coat it on. He’d be lucky to get by with two coats at this rate.

  While he painted, he kept a wary eye out for Anna Louise. In the two weeks he’d been home she had made a habit of tearing up the lane to the house at least once a day. Most times, she simply waved, then disappeared inside to visit with Maisey. He wasn’t sure if they were praying or gossiping in there, but Maisey’s spirits were always brighter after one of Anna Louise’s visits.

  He’d commented on that last night during supper. Maisey’s response hadn’t been particularly illuminating.

  “I’ve always loved having company, you know that,” she’d told him.

  “But I get the feeling there’s a special bond between you and Anna Louise,” he’d prodded. “Is it because she’s your pastor?”

  “There is that,” Maisey admitted. “But mostly I just enjoy her company. She’s always cheerful. She has a way of looking at life that brightens my day. I can’t tell you how much better I feel after we’ve had a laugh or two.”

  Richard had retreated into disgruntled silence after that. He could only recall laughing with Anna Louise on one occasion, when he’d told her about stealing Mabel Hartley’s girdle. Most of the time they got off onto some serious self-examination that cut too damn close to the bone.

  When he’d realized that he was envious of his own grandmother’s easy, comfortable relationship with Anna Louise, he’d completely lost patience with himself and stalked off to bed. But even with his head buried under a pillow, he hadn’t been able to keep out the troublesome images of a redheaded woman who could tempt even a saint to sin—and he was definitely no saint.

  Now that he thought back to that instant of self-disgust over supper the previous night, he couldn’t help remembering something else, as well. Maisey had watched him leave the table with an irritating expression of satisfaction written all over her face. Now, what the heck had that been about?

  * * *

  On the first Friday morning in October, Maisey didn’t get out of bed. When Richard went into the kitchen, he found the shades still drawn from the night before and the stove cold. His heart slamming against his chest, he forced himself to walk slowly down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Maisey,” he called softly as he opened the door.

  She was huddled under the blankets, looking lost and even more frail than she had the day before. Her gaze was as sharp as ever, though.

  “What’s got you in such a tizzy?” she asked irritably.

  “Who says I’m in a tizzy?”

  “You just busted into my bedroom. Doesn’t a woman have the right to sleep a little late once in a while?”

  “You never do.”

  “How would you know?”

  The comment stopped him cold. An ache formed in the region of his heart as guilt sliced through him. The ache was all the more painful because Anna Louise had already opened that particular wound.

  “You’re right. I guess I don’t know your habits after all this time.” He sat down on the bed and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry. I never meant to stay away so long.”

  She sighed heavily. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Just because I’m a mite more tuckered out than usual, I don’t have any right to be making you feel guilty for going off and doing what you had to do. I know how you felt about living here in Kiley. From the time your mama and daddy died, you were determined to get out. I could never blame you for that.”

  Richard missed most of the apology and ignored the reference to his parents’ death because his brain had focused almost entirely on Maisey’s open admission that she was “tuckered out.” It wasn’t a phrase she or anyone else had ever used about her as far back as he could recall. Most people commented on her astonishing energy.

  He looked her over, searching for some indication that she was pale or feverish. But other than looking a little tired, she didn’t seem any worse off than she had since he’d come home. Still, he didn’t want to take chances. “Maybe I should get Doc Benson over here.”

  Maisey immediately looked alarmed. “Why on earth would you want to call him? So he can tell me I’m old? Don’t waste the man’s time. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest a bit. The excitement of the past few weeks is wearing on me. Having you home again has been wonderful, but I’ve been missing my afternoon catnaps.”

  Richard wasn’t entirely convinced by the explanation, but he decided to give in for now. He’d just keep a very close eye on her for the rest of the day. “Why don’t I fix you breakfast and bring it to you in bed?” he suggested.

  “The way you used to on special occasions when you were a boy?” she asked, chuckling.

  Richard winced at the memory of those mostly disastrous attempts to please her. “Actually you’ll have to take my word that my cooking skills have improved considerably since then. So, how about it?”

  She drew the old-fashioned quilt up and settled back against the pillows, clearly pleased by the offer. “Maybe a soft-boiled egg and some toast. Can you manage that?”

  “I was hoping for a real challenge, but if an egg and toast are what you want, then that’s what you’ll have.”

  He was in the kitchen half an hour later, trying for the third time not to burn the bread in the old manual toaster that Maisey had refused to trade in on a newer pop-up model, when Anna Louise rapped on the screen door and strolled in. She eyed the tray with its bouquet of just-picked marigolds in a jelly jar, the runny egg, which was probably like ice by now, and the nearby discarded pieces of burned toast.

  “Looks appetizing,” she commented.

  “Go to—” he began, and stopped himself just in time.

  She grinned and picked up the carton of remaining eggs. “Here, y
ou do another egg and I’ll make the toast. I gather Maisey’s not feeling well.”

  “She says she’s just tired.”

  “I suppose she is. First she built up all that anticipation over you coming back and then there was the excitement of having you here and supervising all the work you’re doing to fix the place up. She could probably do with a day or two in bed.”

  He fought the desire to snap at her again for thinking she knew what was best for Maisey. The troubling thing was that she probably did. At least she had echoed what Maisey had just told him herself. He wondered if his grandmother had passed along the same complaint to Anna Louise. He didn’t want to ask the next question that came to mind, but he had to. He didn’t regret the choices he’d made for his own life, but he hated to think of Maisey living some isolated, lonely existence with her only grandson off roaming the world.

  “While I’ve been gone, has she been locked away up here all alone or has she been getting out?” he asked, trying not to let the depth of his concern show.

  To his relief, Anna Louise chuckled. “If you think anyone could keep Maisey tied to this house, then you’ve misjudged her will. She walks down that hill every Tuesday for church circle and again on Sunday for services. She walks into town most days for the mail, rain or shine. Sometimes on the way back, she’ll stop by my place for a cup of tea.”

  He regarded her in confusion. “She hasn’t done any of that since I’ve been home. Has she suddenly taken a turn for the worse? I knew I should have called Doc Benson when I found her still in bed this morning.” He started for the phone, but Anna Louise put out a hand to stop him.

  “Wait a minute. I doubt she needs a doctor.”

  “Will you make up your mind? One minute you say she’s worn out. The next you’re telling me she’s sprightly as a woman half her age. Which is it?”

  “Maisey is almost eighty,” she reminded him. “Naturally she tires more easily than she once did. Yes, it’s true that she keeps herself busy, but she also knows how to pace herself. If I had to guess what’s going on with her now, I’d say she’s laying it on a little thick. I think she’s playing possum just a bit in the hope of keeping you around longer.”