A Sounding Brass (21 page)

“I think you know.” His voice was a caress of sound.

Say it, quick—

Her lips parted, but she would never know whether or not she would have actually said the words, because Ray’s mouth met hers.
His arms went around her, and instead of feeling engulfed or intimidated, as she might have before, she felt cradled in safety.
Her hands slid around his neck and up into his hair. He changed the angle of the kiss, and she began to lose track of where
she was. Her whole being fell into his as he wooed her mouth, and the faint scent of his cologne—something that combined wood
chips with ocean spray—intensified as their temperatures rose.

When at last the kiss ended, Claire was breathing as if she’d just run up the stairs and Ray’s gaze was a little unfocused.

“See what I mean?” he breathed. “How is a guy supposed to just get in the truck and drive away from you?”

Others have.
Elect guys, who got together with her, had a few dates, and then moved on simply because they could. The grass was always
greener in somebody else’s Gathering. But here was Ray, who didn’t want to leave. The question was, what was she going to
do with him?

“This is crazy,” she murmured at last, and turned slightly to lean into the crook of his arm.

“What? Us?”

“That’s just it.”
Say it.
“There can’t be any us.”

“Why not?” Just like that, he responded calmly, as if she’d said she couldn’t go swamp stomping again tomorrow. But then,
he was a cop. They were probably used to keeping their emotions and reactions under wraps. Coward that she was, she felt a
little relieved. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as she thought.

“I told you before. Well, maybe your being an Outsider isn’t so much the point now, but you still don’t believe in God.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“I know you don’t think the Elect is the right path for you. And I—”

“I get the feeling you don’t, either.”

“I still believe.”

“So, we’re doomed from the outset because of religion?” he asked. “Our sense of humor, the way we talk about things, those
don’t count?”

“They can’t.” How could she explain this? “Belief in God has to be the foundation for a relationship. If that’s missing, if
two people don’t have the same views on what’s important, the relationship will never work.”

His hazel eyes were disconcertingly direct. “What’s important to you, Claire?”

“God, of course. But I have my salvation in the Elect. I can’t give that up.”

“No one’s asking you to. I just think we have something worth fighting for, that’s all.”

“It’ll be something to fight
about
, trust me. My sister married Outside, and she’s miserable. Andrew doesn’t understand her in so many fundamental ways and
it’s just not . . . right. I don’t want that for myself.”

“We’re different people, different personalities. I don’t care if you take off and go to Gathering three times a week.”

“It’s not only that. Once they come back, the Shepherds won’t stay in a divided home, so you lose that privilege. And what
about Summer Gathering and supper invites? I’d have to go to everything alone. It’s just not worth it, Ray.”

“So, you’re saying you’d rather have a social life than the possibility of something with me.”

The hurt ambushed her with a punch to the stomach. “You don’t understand.”

“I have to say I don’t. I ask you what’s important and you give me a social calendar.”

“It’s not the social calendar, it’s what’s under it. Fellowship.”

“That’s the price, huh?” He pasted on a smile. “It’s pretty high. And no guarantees.”

“No,” she said miserably. She had hurt him deeply and it was too late to take it back.

He pulled his arm from under her shoulders and stood up. She felt very small and alone on the couch by herself. “If it makes
you feel any better, I do think about God once in a while. But all the rules and regulations you believe in—it’s worse than
boot camp, Claire. I can’t believe that’s what God wants me to spend my life on. God gets me the way I am or not at all.”

He pulled on his boots. “Thanks for the cocoa. I’ll go down to the PD in the morning and hand off this job to them. Maybe
I can get back to Seattle and take a weekend off for once.”

“Ray—”

“Good-bye, Claire. I hope that someday you find the guy you deserve.”

He meant it kindly, she thought as the door closed behind him. But at that moment it sounded like a curse.

* * *

AT LEAST LUKE
still thought she was wonderful. To Claire’s bruised feelings, his welcoming grin through the studio window was like a healing
salve. It didn’t do much for the circles under her eyes, and it didn’t fill the empty hollow under her ribs that was one part
defensiveness, one part loneliness, and two parts regret, but it helped.

When she finished entering the day’s receipts, she took a moment when the next song began to knock on the window and wait
for Luke to beckon her in. The surfer beat of Jars of Clay singing “It Is Well with My Soul” surrounded her until Luke turned
the studio feed down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I like this one.”

“I do, too.” She gave him a big smile. “Thirty thousand so far this week. Thirty-one thousand, to be specific, not counting
last weekend.”

He held up a hand for a high five and she slapped his palm.

“The prayer times are working. I knew they would. Who can resist hearing themselves on the air?”

“And those are only the brave ones who call in. You get far more prayer letters to read out loud. And I don’t think it’s that
people want to hear themselves. They want to give. It’s all the work of God.”

“Of course, it is.” His warm gaze melted over her. “So, today I have an assignment for you.”

“Sure.”

“The general contractor dropped off an invoice this morning, and we need to get it paid.” He scooped an envelope off the top
of the CD player and handed it to her.

She scanned it. “Okay. Twenty-seven thousand for heavy equipment for drainage and foundation trenches. Five thousand for subcontractors
to clear the land and level it. They want all this up front?”

With a shrug, he turned to the console and cued up another CD. “They’ve already started. They have to pay the little guys.
You know, their subcontractors.”

“That will clean out the receipts we were saving for the down payment.”

“There’ll be more,” Luke replied with the supreme confidence of faith.

“I hope they get something going. We were out there yesterday taking pictures for the before-and-after display and it doesn’t
look as though any kind of work has started.”

“Didn’t you see surveyors’ stakes and tape and trenches?”

“No.”

“I did when I was there the other day. Did you go to the right place?”

“Ray said it was.” But had it been? Clearly not, if heavy equipment was already working. No wonder it had looked as if no
one had been there since Crazy Jack had staked his claim. Mentally, she rolled her eyes at herself. All those mosquito bites
for nothing.

“Ray?” One of Luke’s eyebrows rose in inquiry. “What’s Ray Harper doing poking his nose into Elect business?”

“Oh, he wasn’t. It was just something to do. He must have got his directions mixed up.”

“Something to do? As in, on a date?”

This was what the media referred to as
damage control
. Since there was no hope for Ray—in more ways than one—she needed to clear up Luke’s mistaken ideas.

“No, not a date. We’re not going out. He doesn’t know many people around here so I was showing him the sights.”

“Be careful, Claire. Elect women can be very attractive to a lone-wolf type like him.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Luke. I’d never get involved with an Outsider.”

“I haven’t seen you involved with anyone, have I?”

Jars of Clay faded out and the Nashville Bluegrass Band came on. Indicator lights changed from red to green on the second
CD player.

“No. There isn’t anyone in Hamilton Falls to get involved with, except Derrick Wilkinson, and I’ve known him since we were
in diapers.”

“There’s someone,” Luke said softly. “Someone who thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.”

A draft blew in through the open studio door and ran soft fingers up the back of her neck. Claire shivered. “Who?”

Luke turned back to the microphone and cued up the tape player for the 10:15 prayer request. “If you don’t know, you’ll have
to wait until he’s ready to tell you. Let me know when that check’s ready, okay? I want to give the contractor a heads-up
when it goes in the mail.”

Puzzled, Claire closed the door behind her and went into her office to enter their first payable into the database. She’d
generate the check and post it after she made her daily trip to the bank.

Who on earth had Luke been talking about? It couldn’t be the Kowalczyk twins—they were five years younger than she. It wasn’t
Derrick. So, who was left?

Luke himself.

No, that couldn’t be. They worked together, that was all. He’d never given any indication he wanted more than to be workmates
or even a big-brother figure, as evidenced by his joking lecture over the kiss in the parking lot.

He’d never given any indication—until now, that is. He’d said he wasn’t ready, hadn’t he? What was he waiting for? For the
worship center to get off the ground? For Ray to leave town? For the station to reach a certain number of pledges and be financially
secure enough for him to back off on the fundraising and actually have a life?

Or maybe he was waiting for her to wake up and act like something other than his sister in the Lord. But was she even interested
in that? When Luke walked into a room, did her blood jump and her breath come short the way it did when she saw Ray? Or did
she fall into his arms whenever she got within five feet of him?

Her reaction to Ray was a bad standard to hold Luke to. She had to think about their spiritual compatibility before anybody
fell into anyone’s arms. Ray was an unbeliever, so there was no future with him. Luke was an enthusiastic advocate for God—you
couldn’t find a more committed believer. But did that mean there was a future for her there?

With a sigh, Claire reached for the stack of mail that hadn’t contained prayer pledges or donations. Bills, circulars, newsletters
from various radio-geek associations that Toby belonged to—why couldn’t they all join up and form one group, anyway?—and an
envelope with a church logo in the corner. She pulled out the letter inside and saw that it was a thank-you note from the
Good Shepherd Church in Idaho.

Our outreach appreciates your contribution to our work so very much. You can be assured that your generosity will mean that
your name will be lifted up in prayer and thanksgiving each morning as the homeless here partake of the food you have helped
to provide.

Sincerely,
Richard Myers, Pastor
Good Shepherd Congregational Church

Claire set it aside to show Luke when his show was over. Then she picked it up again and looked at the signature a second
time.

Richard Myers.

How funny that a pastor in Idaho would have the same name as some criminal Ray was tracking in Hamilton Falls. But then, both
names were pretty common. And it wasn’t very likely that a pastor was going to be ripping people off, was it?

At eleven, she took the receipts over to the bank, dropped off the general contractor’s check at the post office, and at noon
was back at her desk, eating a sandwich she’d grabbed at the coffee bar. With FileMaker it was easy to generate a report of
everyone who had contributed to that day’s deposit, load the addresses into a Word file, and generate thank-you letters and
receipts.

“I love technology,” she murmured around her chicken and avocado. Just imagine the time it would have taken to hand-write
thank-you letters for thirty thousand dollars. Luke, of course, was the guy who had to sign them all, but he did it cheerfully
in between song announcements.

Her thoughts must have conjured him up. Luke leaned in her doorway.

“Hey, Claire, I’m on my way up to Spokane. The outfitter called earlier to say the mobile station is ready to roll.” He caught
sight of the neat pile of letters and envelopes on her credenza. “Uh-oh. Are those all for me?”

“’Fraid so. The price of success is writer’s cramp.”

He grinned at her. “A small price compared to what we’re able to do. Hey, did you mail the check to the contractor yet?”

“Yes, I did, when I went to the bank. Sorry—did you want to hand carry it?”

He waved a negligent hand. “It was just a thought. If the project manager was around, I had some ideas for the sanctuary I
wanted to run past him, but I can do that another day. Need anything from Spokane?”

“Don’t tempt me. Now that we don’t have to wear black any more, I have a whole wardrobe to replace.”

“You’re welcome to come with me.” His gaze on her became warm, intimate. “It’s not often we get to be alone together.”

Claire tilted her head and gave him a wry look. “We’re alone right now. And I have a ton of things to do this afternoon.”

“Do them tomorrow.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “It’s almost the end of September, in case you missed it. Who’s going to do the month-end reports
for Willetts?” The station’s owner hardly ever showed his face, but apparently Toby had been doing his best to provide the
man with a report on how his investment—such as it had been—was doing.

“Willetts has gone without reports for twenty years. He’s not going to miss them.”

“I don’t know about that. Toby’s been giving him a spreadsheet every month. I wanted to really jazz him with my nifty P&L
that the database generates.”

He laughed. “You’re just as geeky as Toby.”

She straightened a little. “Competence isn’t the same as geekiness. I like to do a good job, that’s all.”

“Oh, get off your high horse. I was only kidding. Okay, I’m out of here.”

Part of her wished she could go with him as she watched him lope down the short hallway and out the door. This was the second
time he’d asked her to go to Spokane with him. Why had she turned him down?