“You remember any numbers, letters?”
Trudi shook her head.
“Anything else about it, Trudi? Anything at all?”
“It had a bumper sticker on the back. Driver’s side.”
“What did it say?”
“Red Sox Rule.”
“You a baseball fan, Trudi?” Tom asked.
“My older brothers had the games on TV all the time,” Trudi volunteered, then looked down at her hands as though she had said something wrong.
Anne thought Trudi was exhibiting all the nervous habits of a witness on the stand who wasn’t being totally candid. She wondered why.
“You have amazing eyesight,” Anne said carefully. “Reading a bumper sticker on a car that whizzes past you at night on a road without any lights.”
“Oh, I didn’t read the bumper sticker last night. I read it when the car was parked in the church’s lot yesterday afternoon.”
“Yesterday afternoon?” Anne repeated, her voice rising in surprise.
“You’ve been a big help, Trudi,” Tom said, quickly coming to his feet. “I’m sure Lori needs you back at the café. I’ll get the door for you.”
When Tom returned after seeing Trudi out, Anne was ready for him. “You saw Tommy’s mother at the church yesterday.”
“I didn’t see the car,” Tom said. “Do you have enough of a description of the vehicle to call the state police?”
Tom knew Anne wasn’t satisfied with his explanation. Her gray eyes were as cloudy and cool as an overcast day.
“If I’m going to help you find this woman,” she said, “I need to know more about her.”
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Tom said.
“Let’s start with her name.”
“Lindy.”
“And her last name?”
Tom shook his head.
“You won’t tell me?” Anne asked.
“I can’t,” Tom said.
Her eyes aimed at him like two silver bullets. “Is she married?”
“No, Anne, she’s not married.”
“Lindy wants to marry you, though, doesn’t she?” Anne asked.
Tom hesitated. He knew exactly where Anne was heading. Unfortunately, there was no way to stop her now.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t want to marry her.”
“No.”
Anne looked down at the baby in her arms.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” she said. “I’ve heard at least a hundred cases just like it in my court. He wants instant gratification. She wants romance with all the trimmings. And because they are so focused on their own wants, neither of them thinks about the life they end up bringing into the world.”
“It wasn’t like that, Anne.”
Her eyes rose to his. “No? Then tell me what it was like.”
He wished he could. God help him, he wished he could.
“I can’t,” Tom said.
The disappointment on her face was heavy enough to bury a man. Tom felt the weight of it like an anvil over his heart.
For a moment, he thought Anne was going to press him for the whole truth. But then she sighed as though in defeat and reached for her shoulder bag, to dig out the cell phone inside.
“I’d rather do this without an audience if you don’t mind,” she said, pointing at the phone.
Tom nodded and stepped out of the room so she wouldn’t have a sense of his hovering. But he listened in from the adjoining hallway. He had to know if she was going to mention him or the baby.
A moment later she was chitchatting with some guy named Fred in the state trooper’s office. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she asked Fred to keep an eye out for the old rusty-red VW Beetle with a woman driver. She said nothing about Tom or the child.
Tom was relieved until he heard her sign off.
“Let’s have dinner Monday night,” Anne said into the phone. “Pittsfield is good. Yeah, I like it there. Seven o’clock will be fine. I love you, too.”
Anne loved some guy named Fred with the state police?
No. Tom didn’t believe it. Fred had to be an uncle, or brother.
Not that it mattered now. Anne had lost what little faith she had left in Tom after his jarring admissions during their previous conversation. He had read that clearly in the freezing chill of her eyes. It would take a miracle for him to have a chance with her now.
Fortunately for Tom, he believed in miracles.
The telephone rang. He walked down the hallway to answer it.
Anne could hear Tom’s side of the conversation as he spoke on the kitchen telephone. He really had the most amazing ability to project his voice—even when he didn’t seem to be trying.
He was being asked to console parents whose young daughter had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Tom told them he was on his way.
Anne wondered how anyone could bring comfort in a situation like that. It seemed to be asking a lot of someone to try. Maybe that was the problem. The job asked too much. Maybe that’s why it was just too hard to meet all its demands.
Like the one that called for control over sexual urges. The one Tom had failed.
What disappointed her so much? Was it that he had had a child out of wedlock? Or that he didn’t want to marry the mother of his child?
No, it was the fact that he had put his desires first—just like any ordinary man. Tom wasn’t special, after all. And she had wanted him to be. Because she was so damn attracted to him.
It’s better this way,
that wise voice inside her said.
You know the truth. Now you can stop the silly fantasies about the guy and get on with your vacation.
As soon as he got back from his visit to the distraught parents, that was exactly what Anne was going to do. And this time, she was not going to let herself be talked out of it.
CHAPTER THREE
A
NNE
AWOKE
S
UNDAY
morning to a raven’s angry croak. She slipped out of bed and crossed to the window. The raven was perched on a nearby tree, scolding a sleek ginger cat that was in pursuit of whatever had ducked beneath the deck below. The cat was clearly oblivious to the bird’s tirade.
A prowling tom, no doubt,
Anne thought with irritation.
She cracked open the window and leaned out. The raven eyed her curiously, then ignored her completely as it proceeded to preen its silky black feathers.
The morning mist drifted like a delicate silver veil through the meadow below. Ribbons of pink and purple light encased the sleepy village of Cooper’s Corner like giant bows decorating a birthday present. The images were lovely, the air sweet with the kiss of spring.
But it was way too frosty for a thin nightgown and bare feet. Anne leaned back and shut the window.
She knew when it was time to retreat. And not just from a chilly morning.
If and when Fred called to let her know about the rusty-red VW Beetle, she would pass along the information to Tom as promised. But by telephone. There was absolutely no reason to ever see him again. And she wasn’t going to.
Smart women stayed clear of unsuitable men.
Yesterday, she’d gotten carried away, become too involved in a business that shouldn’t have concerned her. It had been a mistake. Not her first. Probably not her last. But one that she definitely was putting behind her.
Today was a brand-new day—the day when she really started her long-awaited vacation.
A gentle knock sounded at the door. Anne padded across the thick carpet to see who it was. Maureen stood in the hall, holding a tray with two cups of coffee.
“You are a great hostess,” Anne said as she opened the door wide to invite Maureen inside.
“Newlyweds and friends get special treatment,” Maureen replied with a smile.
They settled on the daisy brocade bedspread, backs braced against the headboard, softened with fluffy pillows. Anne polished off her coffee in one long delicious gulp. The rich liquid left a trail of warmth, more than welcome after her brief taste of the chilly morning air.
“Thanks,” she said, returning the cup to the tray when she had finished. “I really needed that.”
Maureen eyed Anne over the rim of her cup. “You didn’t sleep well.”
“The bags are that big beneath my eyes?” Anne asked, chuckling.
“I heard you pacing the floor. My room is just below.”
Anne frowned. “Oh. Sorry.”
“No reason to be,” Maureen said. “The twins caught a cold. They kept me awake. The question is, what kept you?”
Avoiding Maureen’s inquisitive gaze, Anne got up and meandered over to the window. What she had learned about Tom and the baby was not her secret to share. If Tom wanted to tell his parishioners, that was up to him. But no one was going to hear it from her.
“The view from this room is spectacular,” Anne said. “I love seeing the snow-covered mountains soaring above the trees.”
“Okay, you don’t want to talk about it,” Maureen said, rising off the bed. She picked up the tray and started toward the door. “Take your time coming down. I won’t clear away the buffet until you’re ready.”
Anne felt a twinge of guilt for having cut off her friend. “Maureen?”
Maureen reached the door and turned to face her. “Yes?”
“Thanks for caring to ask,” she said.
Maureen studied her silently for a moment. “He didn’t get any sleep, either, Anne.”
Anne’s pulse jumped. “He?”
“The baby. Unless there’s another ‘he’ you’re interested in?”
“How do you know the baby didn’t sleep?” Anne asked, pointedly ignoring Maureen’s question.
“It’s a small village,” Maureen replied. “People around here help out when problems arise. Several women took turns dropping by the rectory last night, but none of them could stop the little guy from crying.”
Anne felt the chill of the cold morning seeping through her nightgown. The coffee hadn’t helped much, after all. She wrapped her arms around her chest.
How long could a baby go without rest?
“Phyl and Lori insist you’re the only one he responds to,” Maureen said. “Is that true?”
“When does the church open?” Anne asked.
“The Church of the Good Shepherd is always open,” Maureen said. “And services will be starting soon. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to drive you over.”
Before Anne could even think about reconsidering, Maureen was gone.
“Damn it,” Anne muttered as she pulled off her nightgown and rushed toward the shower. “I do not want to see Tom Christen again.”
Maybe if she said it loud enough, she might even start believing it.
* * *
T
HE
VILLAGE
CHURCH
was packed for Sunday service. Farming families from miles around had come to join their neighbors in Cooper’s Corner. Anne sat in the front pew next to Maureen. She wore a tailored blouse of deep blue, with slacks to match.
To Tom, she looked even lovelier than she had that first morning he saw her. Because this morning she had come to cradle a tiny, exhausted baby in her arms, no matter what she thought of its father.
And what she thought of Tom showed crystal clear in the frozen gray pools of her eyes.
Lent was the time to read scriptures full of the message of sacrifice. But as Tom stood in the pulpit and gazed down on Anne and the marvel of the sleeping baby in her arms, he found a far different message forming on his lips.
“The first Bible class I ever taught was made up of five-and six-year-olds,” Tom began. “I had no idea how to explain scripture to them in terms they would understand. I decided maybe the best thing to do was to start with a question. So I asked them if they knew where God was.
“A thin girl with black braids told me that God was in the rain that made her grandmother’s thirsty tomato plants grow. A boy with no front teeth lisped that God hung out under his bed, keeping the monsters away. A chubby-faced boy said he knew for a fact that God stayed in the pantry protecting the small brown mouse that his mother was always trying to trap. And, finally, a shy girl, barely five, leaned forward and whispered to me that she had seen God in her daddy’s smile.”
Tom paused to enjoy the soft murmur of appreciation flowing through the congregation before he continued. “Jesus said that unless we become as little children, we will not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. His words made a lot of sense to me after listening to those little kids. They saw God everywhere they looked because that’s where they knew God would be.”
Tom gazed down into Anne’s eyes—now a soft, warm velvet and staring directly into his own. “Finding heaven is as simple as opening our eyes and seeing with our hearts. That’s what the little children in that Bible class taught me.”
* * *
A
NNE
WAITED
IN
the parish hall while Tom said goodbye to the last of his parishioners. Maureen had driven back to the B and B. Anne planned to walk back later. Right now she was thankful for a moment alone to try to sort through her emotions.
The message in Tom’s story had sneaked past all her defenses and touched her heart. She’d never met a man before who could freely admit to being taught by children, much less show such strength doing it.
She had some previous assumptions that needed reevaluating. Maybe she’d grown into too much of a judge, become too quick to find fault. Everyone made mistakes. So what if Tom had a child out of wedlock and didn’t want to marry its mother?
Okay, it was hardly exemplary behavior for a priest, but at least he was trying to care for his child. His sweet little child.
Anne looked down at Tommy, fast asleep in her arms. The moment she had arrived at the church that morning and taken him out of Phyllis Cooper’s hands, Tommy had stopped crying, settled his tiny head against her and slipped into a sound sleep.
She had come to expect this from Tommy. What she hadn’t expected was the sudden rush of pleasure when she felt the steady beat of his heart once again next to hers. She had missed him.
“Thanks for coming, Anne,” Tom said.
Anne hadn’t heard him enter the room, so intent had she been on the baby. She lifted her head with a start.
He was standing in front of her chair, looking long and lean in a black suit, clerical shirt and white collar. The contrast of his dazzling smile against the bronze of his skin was dramatic and nothing less than dynamite.
“I heard you had a rough night,” Anne said, and was dismayed that her voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as she’d intended.
“I’ve had better,” Tom admitted as he slipped onto the chair beside her. He leaned across her to stroke Tommy’s cheek with the pad of his index finger. She could smell the soap he’d used to wash with, a blend of clean pine woods, laced with a touch of enticing incense.
“I don’t know how Tommy or I would have managed this morning without you,” he said in that deep-throated voice of his.
No doubt about it, Tom was just as tempting as sin. But it was the open sincerity in his clear blue eyes that was the real threat to Anne’s composure. She leaned back in her chair, away from his warmth, and reminded herself once again that she was a sober, sane judge and could handle this situation with the proper emotional distance.
“About your baby, Father Christen—”
“Please, Anne. Call me Tom.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t wait to find out whether you use that very proper judicial tone when you say my first name or that incredible throaty sigh that slips out once in a while.”
Tom watched the light of understanding turn Anne’s eyes into dazzling pools of pure crystal.
She dropped her gaze to the baby. “This isn’t a good idea.”
But it was too late. Her beautiful, expressive eyes had betrayed her. Somehow she’d gotten past her disappointment in him. And for Tom, the weariness of two nights without any sleep simply faded away.
He rose and held out his hand. “I’ve packed enough formula and diapers for the day. And there’s a basketful of food. We’ll take it with us.”
She looked at his offered hand but made no move to clasp it. “Where?”
“There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he said.
Tom knew her choice at this moment was an important one for them both. He stood before her with his hand held out for what was probably only seconds, but felt like a lifetime.
Then, slowly, she slipped her right hand from around the baby and placed it palm down on his.
Her skin was warm and soft, the tone of her voice wonderfully tart. “I’m not doing any more shopping and I’m not doing any more dishes. And when this little cherub of yours needs feeding or changing, Tom Christen, he’s all yours. Is that clear?”
“As a church bell,” Tom said as he curled his fingers around her slim wrist and pulled her gently to her feet.
For a second she stood tantalizingly close, the warmth of her seeping into his senses. She smelled like rain-washed flowers, and the desire to hold her was a growing ache inside him.
Tom reminded himself that he was stronger than his urges. He stepped back, released her hand and led the way to the car.
* * *
“I’
VE
GOT
AN
ace-high straight, boys,” the eighty-five-year-old lady with the humped back and thin, blue-veined hands said as she slapped her cards down on the table. “Read ’em and weep.”
The other senior citizens sitting around Tom and Anne at the rickety old card table moaned in unison as they threw in their cards.
“She’s cheating, Father,” sputtered a thin, wrinkled man who Anne was certain had to be at least ninety. “Nobody wins eight straight in a row fair and square!”
Tom peered across the table at the smug grin on the old lady’s face as she gingerly scooped up the pile of wagered matchsticks from the middle of the table.
“You dealing from the bottom of the deck again, Shirley?” Tom asked.
Shirley stared at Tom with the face of a born cardsharp. “Accusing an old lady of such a thing. You should be ashamed of yourself, Father Tom. Just for that you owe me another cupcake.”
Tom shifted the feeding baby in his arms to reach into the basket at his feet. He drew out a chocolate-topped cupcake and slid it slowly across the table toward Shirley.
Shirley eyed the cupcake greedily. When she reached for it, however, Tom quickly pulled it back. As Shirley made a final, valiant grab, an ace slipped out of her sleeve.
“There! See? See?” shouted the old man.
“Oh, put a cork in it, Walter,” Shirley said, totally unperturbed at having been caught. Her twinkling eyes returned to Tom. “Now, you going to hand over that cupcake, or am I going to have to arm wrestle you for it?”
Tom eyed Shirley for a moment as though sizing up his opponent. Then he pushed back from the table, stood up and carefully handed Tommy to Anne.
“Two out of three,” he said as he started to roll up his sleeve.
Pandemonium at once reigned as the senior citizens at the table began rolling wheelchairs and hopping on their canes in order to reposition themselves to get a clearer view. Matchsticks got dumped onto the table as they yelled out their bets to Anne, whom they immediately designated as their official bookie.
Anne had a hard time restraining her mirth—particularly when she noticed that the previously irate Walter was smiling happily as he bet all his matchsticks on Shirley. The formidable old lady was the odds-on favorite.
Tom and Shirley sat face-to-face, knee-to-knee, elbows on the table, hands clasped. Tom huffed and puffed and made a good show, but Shirley easily pinned him two in a row.
Shirley was smugly munching her cupcake and basking in the back slaps of the other seniors when Tom and Anne left the convalescent home a few minutes later.
“Does this go on every Sunday?” Anne asked as they headed for his car in the parking lot.
“First day I came to visit them they told me straight out that they knew the scriptures better than I ever would,” Tom explained with a grin. “Said if I insisted on bothering them on Sundays, I’d better bring food and be ready to play some poker.”