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  Aunt Bette Bob cocked her head, obviously not buying Amy’s attempt to dismiss her warring emotions. “I remember David’s first sermon.” She took a donut hole from the pastry box. “His father was so proud. He would have been even prouder today.”

  Amy ripped a paper towel from the roll and swiped the inside of the filter bowl. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to really get to know Reverend Harper.”

  “If David is even half the man his father was, Mt. Hope Community just might keep its doors open.” Aunt Bette Bob popped the donut hole in her mouth and pointed a finger Amy’s way while she chewed. “Any girl lucky enough to snag that fine young man would be blessed.”

  “Aunt Bette Bob, you know I can’t go there—” Amy stopped mid-protest, her attention drawn to the stranger who’d just stepped through the back door of the fellowship hall. “Can I help you?”

  A tall, young man tugged at the sparse red hairs on his chin. “Uh ...” He stuffed reddened hands into the pockets of dirty jeans. A heavy backpack hung from his thin shoulders. A sour mix of neglected hygiene and stale campfire smoke drifted across the room. His breathing was labored, deep and gasping, like he’d been running for his life. He shuffled his muddy tennis shoes on the mat. “I’m thirsty.” Shame tinged his ragged voice. “Was hopin’ for uh ... uh ... ”

  “Water?” Aunt Bette Bob licked her fingers. “We’ve got that and a few left over donut holes.” She snatched up the box and hurried toward him. “If this was the first Sunday of the month we’d have had a full spread of potluck here to share.”

  “This is more than I deserve.” He took the box. “What day is it?”

  “It’s Sunday, son.” Aunt Bette Bob called over her shoulder. “Amy, is there any coffee left in that pot?”

  “I’ll check.” Amy snatched a Styrofoam cup from the cupboard and placed it under the spigot. The brew was stout but at least it was still hot. “Here you go.” She set the cup on a table and pulled out a chair. “Sit. You look a little—”

  The young man lifted a donut hole from the box and stared at it like it had been so long since he’d eaten he’d forgotten how. Before he got the sweet to his mouth, his hand began to shake. He grabbed his stomach. Donuts spilled across the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled.

  Amy lunged for the man collapsing in front of her. “Get help,” she ordered.

  While her aunt sped toward the sanctuary yelling at the top of her lungs, Amy lowered the unconscious man to the tile.

  She kicked donut holes out of her way and crouched beside him. It took some effort to slide the heavy backpack from his arm.

  David flew into the room. “Amy!” He rushed to her side and squatted. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I call Maddie?”

  “No! 9-1-1.”

  “Done.” David pulled out his phone but he didn’t leave her. “Juanita, this is David Harper. We need an ambulance at Mt. Hope Community. A man has collapsed.” He moved the phone from his ear and asked, “Do you know his name?”

  Amy loosened the zipper on the man’s hoodie. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “We don’t know him,” David told the dispatcher. “I’d guess him to be in his mid-twenties.”

  She pushed up his sleeve and searched for a pulse. “He looks younger to me.”

  David repeated Amy’s report on her patient’s vitals to the dispatcher of the only ambulance service in the county. “Charlie’s on his way.” He slid his phone in his suit pocket. “Anything I can do?”

  By now, the fellowship hall had filled with David’s mother, Maxine, Nellie, and the Story sisters.

  “Keep them out of my way,” she whispered to David.

  “Sure.” David stood and gently eased the women toward the kitchen. “Let’s give Amy room to work.” He ricocheted back to Amy’s side and placed himself directly at her elbow. “Now what?”

  “I meant you, too.”

  “Oh, right.” He scrambled to his feet and buttoned his suit coat. “You’re the professional.”

  As Amy worked to assess the unconscious man for possible injuries, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her back, especially the dark eyes of the handsome man she’d pretty much called a loser.

  Nola Gay craned her neck. “He looks familiar, don’t you think, Sister?”

  “You know a lot of vagrants, do you, Nola Gay?” Maxine pulled her daughter close.

  “I think he may have escaped from the prison,” Nola Gay said.

  “He’s not wearing a uniform.” Etta May pointed out. “But he does resemble one of those shifty-eyed characters we’ve seen on the sketches at the post office.”

  “I bet that’s where we’ve seen him, Sister,” Nola Gay agreed. “We never forget a face, do we, Etta May?”

  Amy forced herself to block out the ensuing argument between Maxine and the Story twins. By the time Charlie’s ambulance screeched to a halt under the portico, the Story sisters had convinced Maxine the emaciated man was a convict on the run and they were lucky to be alive.

  Charlie burst through the door dragging a squeaky gurney and his skinny son behind him. “Y’all are gettin’ to be regulars,” Charlie belted breathlessly.

  “Charlie!” Amy tilted her head toward the pale-faced pastor’s wife who was obviously reliving the recent loss of her husband in this same church building.

  “Sorry, Leona,” Charlie mumbled.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Leona said. “This boy needs you now.”

  Charlie and his son lowered the stretcher beside the man. “What we got here, Amy?”

  “His pulse is weak.” Amy helped Charlie shift the patient onto the stretcher. “At a minimum he’s dehydrated and malnourished.”

  “And most likely high.” Charlie cinched the strap across the man’s chest. “Hauled one of his kind out from under that new overpass just the other day.”

  David stepped forward. “His kind?”

  “You know, homeless veterans.” Charlie gave the gurney a tug. “I swear. That new highway bypass between here and the base may be killin’ the local businesses but it draws vagrants to town like buzzards to roadkill.” He used his broad backside to hit the door latch. “It’s gettin’ to be a real epidemic. The government’s going to have to do something or we’ll have to start lockin’ our doors.”

  David picked up the stranger’s pack and pushed between Amy and the gurney. “I think that’s jumping to some pretty serious conclusions, Charlie.”

  Everyone scampered out to watch like a bunch of rubberneckers.

  Charlie heaved the gurney over the curb. “My sister lives on the edge of town and it’s all she can do to keep the vagrants out of her henhouse.”

  “Do you have proof this guy has been stealing chickens?” David’s adamant defense of the stranger surprised Amy.

  Charlie pulled a feather off the patient’s sweatshirt. “I ain’t no detective, but I don’t think your friend here’s been eatin’ pigeons.”

  “He’s not our friend!” Maxine shouted.

  Amy couldn’t contain her growing exasperation. “If this boy doesn’t get to the hospital STAT it won’t matter what he’s done to stay alive.” She took the backpack from David. “I’ll ride with him.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Kid smells like a henhouse.”

  “I’ve smelled worse.” Amy climbed in and began to loosen the belts Charlie had cinched way too tight. Right before Charlie closed the door, she looked up to see David standing on the sidewalk, a scowl on his face. She hated to ask for help, but her car was a standard and her aunt refused to learn how to drive a stick. “Would you take my aunt home?”

  David shook his head. “Momma can do it. I’m going to the base to see what kind of governmental assistance we can get this man. Text me his name, date of birth, and social, once he’s conscious.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said, more surprised than grateful.

  “I may not know how to grow a church, but I can navigate legal r
ed tape.”

  As Charlie closed the door on the interim preacher, Amy felt her heart burst wide open.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Momma undid the ankle straps on her uncharacteristically high red heels she’d finally had the courage to wear. “Charging in to save the underdog was your father’s undoing.”

  David dropped his suit jacket on the couch. “Investigating whether or not a man is eligible for military benefits is hardly charging in.” He undid his tie. “After I change, I’m going to head out to the base. Hopefully, Amy can get the guy’s personal info by the time I get there.” He pulled out his phone. “Shoot! I forgot to give her my number and I don’t have hers.”

  “She gave me her cell number while your grandmother was in the hospital.” Momma’s smile was a little too pleased. “I’ll forward it to you.”

  He tossed his tie over the arm of the couch. “Put the brakes on those matchmaking wheels, Momma.”

  “Amy Maxwell would be—”

  “My helping this guy out has nothing to do with Amy Maxwell.”

  “What guy?” Maddie stood in the doorway wearing a robe and her hair in a towel.

  “Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”

  “I was in the shower. There wasn’t any hot water after the Postiers got finished this morning.” Maddie looked between David and Momma, her keen sense of observation kicking in. “What did I miss?”

  “A stranger passed out in the fellowship hall and Amy saved him,” Momma explained.

  “Why didn’t you come get me?”

  “You had to check on Grandmother, remember?” David didn’t hold back his irritation that she’d left him to deal with the members of Mt. Hope Community, Amy Maxwell included.

  Momma carefully removed her shoes. “David is going out to the base to see if the young man is military.”

  “David’s diving into church work?” Maddie’s brows rose. “The plot thickens.”

  He kicked off his father’s shoes. “Helping a guy who’s down on his luck is what Dad would have done.”

  “So you wear Dad’s shoes, preach his sermon, and now you’re him?” Maddie’s teasing had an edge of warning he didn’t appreciate.

  “I didn’t ask for your approval.”

  Momma stepped between them. “Maddie, would you mind taking your Grandmother her lunch?”

  Maddie quickly considered the situation in that diagnostic way of hers, then said, “You’ve always had more than my approval, big brother. I’ve always had your back.” She turned and left him to chew on the one thing he knew to be true. He could always count on his little sister to tell him the truth. Was he trying to be like Dad out of guilt or was it something deeper?

  Momma patted the sofa. When she realized David was too worked up to sit, she started in on him anyway. “Defending the underdog has always appealed to you, David. I think it’s why you love the law.” She bent over and rubbed her foot with both hands. “But if you’re going to take your father’s place for a bit, I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes we made.”

  “Momma, Dad was the saint. Not me.”

  Her head popped up. “Whatever made you believe your father was a saint? He had his shortcomings, and the church folks have been more than happy to point out mine.”

  “You see, that’s where you and I are different. I don’t care what the members at Mt. Hope Community Church think.”

  “Then you won’t last two weeks.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Feeling guilty, David sat on the coffee table and faced his mother. “Momma, what exactly do you believe you and Dad did wrong?”

  “Maybe we should have been more ...”

  “Perfect?”

  “Nobody wants to fail in this life, David.” She looked at him with watery eyes. “Your father and I certainly never wanted to let the Lord down.”

  “And you think you did?”

  “You saw the numbers today. What do you think?”

  “Impact can’t always be measured in numbers.”

  “I know you’ll do things differently here, as you should, but is it wrong for a mother to want to spare her child the painful lessons she’s endured?”

  “Momma, this isn’t a matter of me doing things differently.” David took her hand. “I preached for you today. No one else.”

  “Me?”

  “I didn’t want you to suffer Maxine’s barbs about the strain the empty pulpit was putting on her husband.”

  “But you told your grandmother you didn’t want the firm.”

  “Just because practicing law doesn’t appeal to me for now”—David softened his tone before finishing up his argument—“don’t think that means I’m bucking to become a pastor forever.”

  “What do you want to do with your life?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She studied him for a moment, her eyes taking on that dreamy contented look that always made him wish he could actually live up to whatever it was she saw in him. “Maxine is right,” she said quietly. “When it comes to skill in the pulpit, you are as good as your father.” She silenced his protest with a gentle finger to his lips. “You know how much I loved listening to your father preach, but you may be even better.”

  “Maxine has her own agenda.”

  “Nellie?”

  He gave her a don’t-even-go-there look.

  Thankfully, she didn’t. Instead, she opted to change the subject. “Wayne Darling says a widow should wait a year after losing a loved one before making any drastic changes.”

  “That’s good advice. You should take it.”

  “The Board isn’t going to give me a year.”

  “Then that’s another good reason for me to stay. Maddie’s flying out in a couple of days for her residency interviews. But I can stay to make sure they do.”

  Momma leaned back with a sigh and he could tell she was gearing up for one of her now-son lectures. “Remember how I used to drill you and your sister about what to do if our van ever went over a bridge?”

  This was not the tactic he was expecting. “Save Momma?”

  She nodded. “Truth is, I knew you would have jumped in for me no matter what. You know how I knew this?”

  He shook his head. “No, and I don’t see what your water phobia has to do with the vagrant in the fellowship hall.”

  “Beneath your tough-guy exterior beats a heart that longs to save others. David, you’ve been a rock for me these past few weeks, but it’s not your job to see me settled.”

  “Maybe not, but I can keep Maxine and the Board from throwing you out on the streets.”

  “How?”

  “I can fill Dad’s pulpit for a year.”

  Understanding brought her forward immediately. “My dear sweet boy, I’m not going to let you waste a year of your life sitting around here doing something you hate.”

  “I didn’t say I hated preaching. I just don’t know if a lifetime of doing it twenty-four-seven is for me.”

  “David, even if your heart’s greatest desire was to preach, you can’t just take your father’s pulpit. The pastor must be Board-approved and voted in by a majority of the congregation.”

  “What if I could convince them to designate me interim pastor? They could keep me on for a pittance of what it would cost to hire someone else. Plus, they wouldn’t have the lag time between interviewing and the actual arrival of a new hire. It wouldn’t take very many weeks of Howard preaching to totally shut this place down.”

  “Maybe you should use that law license.” Momma’s tired grin did not reach her eyes. “Those are some pretty convincing arguments.”

  “It’s a simple matter of economics...yours included.”

  “So filling your father’s pulpit is your version of saving your drowning mother?”

  “It’s my version of making it up to Dad.”

  Momma swallowed. “The Board has never been in this situation before, so I’m not sure what they’ll decide. Either way...”

  “We’re back to wi
nning over Maxine.”

  She gave him a weary nod. “If I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, it’s this: life is short. In a blink of an eye, it’s thirty years later and you can find yourself stuck somewhere you never intended to be. Saddest of all, you’re not even sure which misstep tripped you up.” She clasped his hand. “Except in your case. I know, from experience, you’re choosing a step that will put you on a very difficult path.” She squeezed hard. “Your father forgave you a long time ago. It’s time for you to forgive yourself.”

  “Momma, Dad would want me to take care of you. I want to take care of you, but I don’t have any money. What I can do is help you sort the legalities of Dad’s estate. While I do, you can save what you make at the newspaper and I can preach and help support you. A strong argument can be made for the financial benefits of the church not having to pay to relocate a new family. I’m sure the Board will see an interim plan as a win/win for everyone.”

  “Everyone but you.”

  David leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Think of it as buying you that year you need before making any big changes.” He left before the truth of what she was saying could change his mind.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Amy hung another bag of fluid above her patient’s head. “Need anything else, Mr. Freestone.”

  “Angus,” he mumbled. “Mister Freestone was the trucker who knocked-up my mom.”

  “Can I call him for you?”

  “You got a direct line to hell?” His glassy eyes slid her direction. “My old man drank a bottle of tequila, drove his rig over a cliff, and went down in a ball of flames.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me and mom celebrated.” He saw her flinch. “Should have spared you the ugly details. After all, you saved my life.”

  “Technically, the doc in the ER—”

  He held up a limp palm. “I don’t blame you for wondering whether or not I was worth saving.”

  “Angus—”

  “No, really. I’ve wondered that myself.”

  “I believe you are worth my attention. And now that we know you have diabetes, I can help you learn how to manage it.” Determined to make up for missing the obvious signs of DKA, Amy tried again. She, of all people, shouldn’t have been fooled by his symptoms. She straightened the items on his bedside table. “I’ll need to complete your medical history, but before we tackle those questions, do you have anyone who’d want to know you’re sick?”