A Touch of Grace (14 page)

“Sweet horn. Thank you, son.”

“No, sir. Thank you.” Ian stepped closer, and words meant only for the two men were exchanged.

Around them the onlookers began to drift away. Ian hadn’t preached one word.

From her seat on the hard, sun-heated concrete, Gretchen pondered her puzzling preacher. He was here
to preach, but hadn’t. He was here to play and yet he’d given up his audience. He hadn’t even done a pitch to collect money for the mission.

Ian Carpenter was driving her crazy.

As much as she didn’t relish the job, she would tell him about the audit, get his reaction and get out of here. Being attracted to a preacher was the dumbest thing she’d done in a long time.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she pushed up from the ground and dusted the seat of her capris.

Even after what had happened to her and Maddy as kids, she was still too weak to resist a smooth-talking preacher. Pathetic. Women like her must have some perverse need to be controlled.

This was ridiculous.

With a rapid change of direction, she started toward the outrageously expensive parking lot, leaving Ian and the man to talk. Ian hadn’t invited her here. She wasn’t some groupie who needed to hang around and talk to him. She was a professional businesswoman here only to ask questions about the audit, not to ogle a good-looking preacher. She could do this interview by phone.

Half a block into her resolve, Ian jogged up beside her.

“Wanna grab some lunch?”

“I’ve already had lunch.” She thrust her chin into the air, intending to sound dismissive. Then she noticed he carried the saxophone but not the money box. “You gave your money to that man.”

One shoulder twitched. “He earned it. Not me.”

Gretchen stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
She’d seen Brother Gordon work the crowds for an hour at a time, pumping them for more money while she and the other followers collected the cash for him. Not once, had she ever seen him give any of it away.

Time after time, she’d seen Ian do things for others and receive nothing in return.

“How can you support the mission if you give your donations away?”

“God supplies the money. He can handle it.”

He was so steady, so confident of who he was and what his place in life was all about. If only she could have one moment of feeling that way. Instead she spent her entire life trying to prove a point and only ended up emptier and more uncertain.

“What a weird thing to say.”

Ian laughed, a loud ringing bark that both embarrassed and amused her.

“It’s not funny. How you can expect the mission to thrive when you’re so cavalier about your funds. Are you aware that Marian Jacobs is requesting an audit?”

The words flew out before she was ready. So much for subtlety.

Ian’s humor died away. “Of Isaiah House?”

“I received a tip this morning. Are they going to find anything?”

They stood beneath an enormous live oak, its leaves whispering secrets to each other.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly.

“I’m asking, Ian. I need to know.”

“And I need to know you have enough confidence in me not to have to ask.”

Frustrated and conflicted, she looked up through the leaves and dappled sunshine.

“You know I have to follow this story to the end.”

“Which comes first, Gretchen, your job or a friend?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It
is
fair. You know who I am. Stop waiting for me to turn into the bogeyman.”

Brother Gordon had.

When she didn’t answer, his shoulders rose and fell in frustration. “Look, Gretchen, I don’t care about the audit. But I’d like to know you believe in me.”

“I want to.” But she was so scared of being fooled again.

Confusion boiled inside like a geyser waiting to erupt. She liked him. She was attracted to him. But he was a preacher, and she didn’t dare believe a preacher. Even Ian.

Did she?

Chapter Ten

H
e should have called first.

Palms damp with uncertainty, Ian pulled into the single parking spot outside Gretchen’s apartment complex.

What if Gretchen had changed her mind about tonight?

He killed the motor and squinted up the steps to the door marked 12B.

The woman was getting under his skin in the worst way. Her inside knowledge about a possible audit was no big deal. What really hurt was that Gretchen thought he’d done something illegal to merit the action.

He examined that, rolled it over in his head. Why should he be upset? She’d thought the worst of him since the beginning. But that was before the barracuda had become a real woman, an appealing woman. They had worked side by side to help the needy. They’d had fun together. He’d thought they were finally past the suspicion and raw distrust. Apparently, they weren’t.

And that hurt.

His feelings aside, if Gretchen was ever going to find her way back to the Lord, she had to learn to trust.

He didn’t give a rip about the audit. Other than the unsolved theft of petty cash, Isaiah House’s finances were in impeccable order. Roger would have told him if anything was amiss.

But if he was honest, which he always tried to be, he needed Gretchen to have confidence in him. He liked her. After all their time together, the least she could do was trust him in return.

Gathering his courage, he shoved the van door open. Just then Gretchen stepped out on the landing. Ian’s stomach took a nosedive. He grabbed his ball cap from the seat, shoved it on and jogged to the stairwell.

Tonight was the car and truck show, and he’d looked forward to the evening since Christmas. After the confrontation in the Square, he hadn’t been sure she’d still want to go.

Not that this was a date, mind you. He knew better than to think that way about an unbeliever.

But he wished he could.

He stopped dead still on the top stair, slam-dunked by the revelation. He, a clergyman, was having serious thoughts about a woman who not only distrusted him but also distrusted God.

Now, that was a reality check if ever there was one.

He started on up the steps.

He was a minister first and last. End of story.

The Superdome was packed.

After more than an hour of wandering the floor to
look at brightly painted trucks, shining chrome wheels and jacked-up, oversize vehicles, Ian realized how silly he was to pretend Gretchen was any other lost soul he wanted to save. He wanted her to renew her faith, all right, but his motives bordered on pure self-interest.

Man, was he a dandy preacher, or what?

Looking far too pretty in a short turquoise overjacket that turned her eyes to emeralds, she hadn’t said a word about the audit or the unpleasant exchange they’d had in the Quarter.

She folded a piece of pink cotton candy and stuffed it into her mouth. “So how do you like the car show? Great, huh?”

“The best.” And he wasn’t kidding. When they didn’t discuss the mission or her job, they had a blast. In pretend weariness he leaned against a truck wheel at least three feet taller than himself. “Fun, but exhausting.”

“I thought the great Reverend Ian never tired.” Her eyes sparkled with orneriness as she teased him with the disliked title. “Preaching, praying and counseling all day, prowling the streets all night.”

“And don’t forget, fending off troublesome television reporters.” He winced, regretting the slip of the tongue. Her work was the last thing he wanted to mention.

“There’s always that. Exhausting, I’m sure.” She ripped another piece of candy from the cone. “Here. Have an energy boost.”

She poked the sugary confection at his mouth and let the opportunity to probe slide right past.

The moment her fingertips touched his lips, thoughts of the audit disappeared and Ian was right
back to thinking about her. Noticing the curve of her sugary, moist lips. Wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

Stop right there, preacher.

The warning in his head buzzed loud and serious. Time to back off and think about something else. Anything else.

He took one giant step backward and looked around. Hot dogs, shrimp, butter-dripping cinnamon rolls. Food beckoned from every direction.

“Let’s grab a real bite,” he said.

“What?” she asked in mock seriousness. “You want something more substantial than cotton candy?”

“Yes. I do. Good old-fashioned health food. You know, a hot dog with cheese and chili.”

“And a big bag of potato chips?”

“Now you’re talking.”

At the counter, Gretchen succumbed to the lure of golden fried shrimp while he focused on the chili dog. They got their orders and chose a place with tables away from the worst noise of the ongoing rock concert located at the far end of the building.

As he placed his hot, brimming full paper boat on the table and sat down, Ian raised his voice. “If that gets any louder, the roof is going to come off.”

Gretchen laughed, energized by the noisy, crowded show. “Admit it, Ian. You want to get up there and jam with them.”

“Think they could use a gospel saxophone?”

This time they both laughed. The hard, pumping rock music was about as far from Ian’s cool jazz style as any music could be.

“I’ll bet you could play with them. You’re good enough.”

The compliment warmed him, but he didn’t take it too seriously.

“That sounds like something my mom would say.”

“Your mom’s a smart lady.” She bit into a jumbo shrimp. “This is good. How’s your hot dog?”

“Can’t compare to a Lucky Dog, but it’s okay.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She always teased him about being addicted to the street vendor hot dogs in the Quarter. “How’s your mother doing?”

“According to Mom? Or the truth?”

She blinked at him over the rim of her Coke cup. “Is something wrong?”

“Her doctor ordered some tests.”

“Bad news?”

“I hope not. But she is seventy-one and her heartbeat is irregular. The doctor ordered a stress test to see if that could cause the ‘little spells’ she’s been having.”

“Didn’t you say she’d only had one of those?”

“She didn’t tell me about the others.”

“Trying to protect her baby boy?”

It was exactly what his mother would do, had always done. Hide the truth from him, so he wouldn’t worry. She’d done the same thing with Dad.

“If my mother has something wrong with her heart, I need to know, whether she likes it or not.”

“Are you going up to Baton Rouge?”

“During the tests?” His gut clenched with dread. “Got to.”

“Worried?”

Ian scraped his straw in and out of the plastic lid. Sure he was worried. Worse than worried. He was scared out of his mind. “Mom has been my rock for a long time. Now I have to be hers.”

With the whisper-touch of her fingers, Gretchen stopped the nervous jiggling of his straw. “Would you like some company?”

Ian studied her sincere expression, a dozen conflicting emotions going off in his head. “Are you offering?”

“I am.”

He knew he should refuse, but he wanted her company.

“I’d like that.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” With a pleased expression, she returned to the last few shrimp and fries.

Ian missed her touch the second she moved.

Boy, was he in trouble. The woman had him in a tangle. He had never before had a problem maintaining a professional reserve from women who did not share his faith. But Gretchen had shoved right through that wall in nothing flat. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to know her better. He wanted to be more than a news story.

And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

They ate without talking for a while. Engines roared. Rock music vibrated the walls. Ian stewed.

If he was getting emotionally involved—and he was pretty sure he was—he needed answers to some serious questions.

He knew Gretchen’s favorite color, her birthday and what made her laugh. But he still didn’t know where she stood spiritually. She was so prickly about the topic, he’d been afraid to go there lest he drive her away.

Some minister he was.

Finally, he dragged a napkin across his mouth, took a sip of watery Coke, and said, “I want to ask you something.”

She paused, a shrimp dangling from grease-shined fingers. “Uh-oh. Sounds serious.”

“It is.” Hands steepled, he bounced thumb knuckles against his chin. If he didn’t do this right, he risked losing her altogether, both personally and spiritually. Yet he couldn’t wait any longer to have this conversation.

Gretchen popped the shrimp into her mouth and chewed, thoughtful. Wariness crept into gorgeous green eyes. “Okay.”

“If I ask you something personal, will you tell me?”

She leaned back in her chair, on alert. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Will you do the same for me?”

“Yes. You can even go first.” To calm the jitters dancing in his belly, he fed them a potato chip and braced for more questions about the mission or the audit.

“Why aren’t you married?”

Considering his thoughts of the last few minutes, the question bore a certain irony.

“Easy.” He shrugged. “So far, no one has wanted to marry me.”

One finely arched eyebrow shot up. “I don’t believe that.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Even the Scouting oath didn’t convince her. “No girlfriends at all? Not even one?”

“I didn’t say that.” His humor faded. “I said, none that would marry me.”

Gretchen was on the mood change like cheese on a cracker. “Some cheating girlfriend broke your heart.”

He tried to joke away the revelation. “You always were too smart for my own good. She didn’t cheat, but she did break my heart.”

“What happened?”

He was long over the breakup, but Tamma wasn’t a topic he enjoyed discussing.

He pointed his soda straw at his companion. “Wasn’t this supposed to be
one
personal question?”

She stuck her chin out and made a face. “Same question. Now I’m asking for details.”

“Newswomen.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “Always have to have details.”