21

Rachel tied off the thread in the lace collar she was tacking onto a dress for Esther Phelps. Her stomach rumbled, and she glanced at the clock. Almost noon. In her past life, she had never eaten this early. Of course, in her past life, she was rarely awake this early. Unless there was a big event, in which case Red Mary would expect her girls to work all night and all day. She shook her head to clear the memory, but the irritation lingered.

Food. My body wants food. Maybe I’ll go back to the parsonage to see what Martha’s fixing for the children. Or maybe I’ll get something from the hotel and have it at the school with Annabelle.

The bell over the door jingled. Well, hopefully this won’t take long. She walked into the store and stopped.

Michael stood holding a tray with cloth-covered dishes. A small vase in the center held two daylilies. “I thought you might like some lunch, so I asked the hotel to fix us a couple of plates.” He searched the room for a place to put the tray.

“And you invited yourself to join me?” She didn’t know how angry she was until she heard her own voice. Where had that come from?

He blinked and backed up a step. “I guess I did.” Confusion clouded his face. “I can leave your plate and take mine back to the hotel. I, uh, didn’t mean to bother you.” He set down the tray on the counter and picked up one of the plates. His hand was on the doorknob, turning it.

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped, hand still on the knob. She sensed that if he walked out the door, something would be lost from her life, something irretrievable. But how could she explain when she barely understood herself?

“All my life, men have told me what to do and how to do it and who to do it with. In Riverbend, I’ve felt like I’m free of that. I have choices. I can make decisions.” She heard her voice rising, heard the hurt. And suddenly she didn’t care if he heard it too. Maybe he needed to. Her temper was slipping. The closest thing to throw was the teapot.

No. I’m not going to break my own things.

She planted her hands on her hips. “When you came with food for both of us, it . . . it felt like you were telling me when to eat, what to eat, and who to eat with, and the flowers were supposed to make it all okay. Just like when my uncle expected a silver dollar to make it all okay.”

His gaze went to the flowers and then back to her. “That’s not—”

“I know. But that’s how it felt.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled, the irritation slipping away. “That’s a good start. At least you won’t be able to tell me what to do.”

Michael arranged the plates on the tea table. He folded his frame into the too-small chair and blessed the food. The food was tasteless in his dry mouth. Tea passed over his tongue and down his throat without leaving any moisture.

Rachel held his attention. Her small bites of food disappearing between those lush lips. The loose strand of hair that dangled near her eyes. He longed to reach over and tuck it behind her ear, but he knew he wouldn’t be content with that. His hand wanted to pull her head close to his. He wanted to kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. He jabbed at a piece of meat.

Rachel sipped her tea. “I apologize for being rude. I do thank you for bringing lunch.”

“You haven’t done anything to apologize for. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d see it. I just wanted to see you again.”

“Are you blushing? Well, you are now.” Her laugh sang to his ears. “Michael, I’m flattered you want to see me. And I enjoy being with you.” She toyed with her knife. Her slender fingers on the handle fascinated him. Everything about her fascinated him.

He wanted to stop time, to prolong being in her presence, to dream before she spoke again . . . because he dreaded what she might say next. He’d seen it coming—heard it in her hesitation.

She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. Everything she did was beautiful.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you?” He blurted the words.

She straightened, and her hands fell to her lap.

He continued. “You’re about to tell me you aren’t ready for a man in your life, that you can’t trust us, that we’re only after one thing. Many men are like that. I don’t think I’m one of them. Not anymore. Yes, I think you’re beautiful, whatever that means. Yes, I want to be with you.”

He paused, trying to control his thoughts, to figure out what to say next. But his brain was disengaged. His heart was talking.

“I want to be with you,” he repeated. “I want to be in your company. I want to know you better. I want to see God as you see Him. I want to experience more of life with you. And yes, I desire you physically. But you are not, and never will be, a whore to me.”

Tension tied a knot in his stomach. Had he said too much?

“I’ve never had a relationship with a woman like Luke has with Martha. For me, for so long, women were there to meet my needs, my desires. Until I started working with Pastor Zechariah, that is. After that . . . well, it just seemed safer to stay away from women.”

He paused, took a deep breath. “Until I met you. And I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never courted a woman. I doubt you even want to be courted. I don’t know how you would feel about a man whose past includes using women like you’ve been used, and worse.”

He closed his mouth. Thoughts churned; secrets nibbled at the surface, wanting to burst out. He pushed them down. She didn’t need to know them.

Her voice was soft. “You’re right about one thing. I’m not ready for a relationship with a man.”

Her gaze met his, matching the firm edge her voice took. “All my life, men have only wanted one thing from me, and somehow they thought money was a suitable replacement for love. And I know you’re different, and I like you. But I . . . I don’t think I can be the girl you want me to be.”

Her voice grew wistful as she looked out the window. “I dream about having a husband and children, but it feels like a fantasy. I’ve prayed about it too. But the hurt is still there.”

She picked up the knife and tossed him a wry smile. “I will say this, though. You’re one of the few men I’ve met where I didn’t feel like I needed to keep this close by.”