LITMIR.BIZ

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to say. Was that all Quinn wanted to talk with her about?

      She reached into the closet and took out the shoes she wore for playing the pipe organ. She held them for a moment, waiting for him to speak, wondering if she should say anything more about Kristie.

      When the silence stretched out, she looked up at him. “I guess you overheard what Kristie’s prayer was about.”

      He nodded, a muscle flickering near his mouth, but he didn’t say anything.

      She took a deep breath. This was definitely not her business, but she couldn’t ignore Kristie’s prayers. “I don’t know much about your job, but I know she’d love it if you could work closer.”

      Quinn’s expression closed to a stiff, impenetrable mask. “That’s not possible. I go where the Corps of Engineers sends me. Unlike your father, I’m not a gentleman of leisure.”

      Her stomach clenched. There was the counterattack she’d expected. “My father is retired.” She forced the words out through suddenly stiff lips.

      Quinn leaned toward her, making her aware of how tiny the vestry was. He was much too close, and he took up all the available space. “What is he retired from?”

      She turned away, slipping on her shoes, buying time. So the battle wasn’t over between them. His brief friendliness had evaporated, and he wanted answers she had no intention of giving him.

      A tremor of fear shivered through her. If anyone in Bedford Creek knew the truth about her father, everyone would know. And if they did, the love and acceptance she’d grown to count on would vanish in an instant. She’d be alone again.

      She straightened slowly and looked at Quinn. If she were a better liar, she might be able to throw him off the track, but she suspected that was impossible. “Business,” she said crisply.

      She hurried through the door to the organ loft, knowing she was running away from him, knowing, too, that it was futile. Quinn Forrester wasn’t the kind of man to give up easily. He wanted the truth, but if he got it, he could destroy her happiness.

      Quinn stood frowning after her for a moment. He’d like to pursue her and drag some answers out of her, but he couldn’t. The opening notes already echoed from Grace Church’s elderly pipe organ. Where had Ellie trained? That was yet another thing he didn’t know about her.

      He walked back through the hallway to the parlor. It was surprising how little the people in Bedford Creek seemed to know about Ellie Wayne. Even his mother, who was usually a clearinghouse of local information, only seemed to know tidbits: that she’d worked in a craft shop in Philadelphia; that her mother died when she was young; that she was an only child. Hardly the kind of information Bedford Creek usually amassed about newcomers.

      And as far as Charles Wayne was concerned, the slate was even blanker, if possible. That was what had upset his sister enough to make her call him. No one knew anything, according to Rebecca, except that he was Ellie’s father. He’d never visited her before; no one had ever heard her speak of him; he’d arrived by bus and didn’t seem to have a car. A man whose background was that vague must have something to hide.

      Quinn entered the parlor, trying to push his concern to the back of his mind. At least Gwen would be safely separated from Charles Wayne for the next hour. After church, like it or not, he’d have the private talk with her that she’d managed to avoid for the last two days.

      His mother and Kristie waited with Rebecca and her husband. He put his arm around Rebecca, kissing her cheek.

      “How’s my little sister?” He looked at her closely. “Kind of washed-out these days, aren’t you?” He sent a mock glare in Brett’s direction. “Have you been working her too hard at the clinic?” He knew Rebecca loved her work as a physician’s assistant at the town clinic, especially since her husband was the doctor she assisted. Together they took care of the whole town.

      Brett Elliot grinned, holding up both hands in surrender. “Not me, I promise. Blame your new little niece or nephew.”

      “Speaking of which…” Rebecca’s face seemed tinged with green. She shook her head and rushed off in the direction of the rest room.

      “What’s wrong with Aunt Rebecca?” Kristie pulled at Brett’s sleeve. “Is she sick?”

      “Sometimes ladies have upset tummies when they’re going to have a baby,” Brett said easily while Quinn was still considering how to answer that question. Thank goodness for a doctor in the family. “I’ll see if she feels like staying or wants to go home. Catch you later.”

      The choir passed them, heading into the choir loft, and Kristie grabbed his hand. “Come on, Daddy. I want to get a story paper before they’re all gone.”

      He let himself be drawn toward the sanctuary and followed his mother and daughter into the pew, automatically tensing. He glanced at his mother. Did she have the same thoughts he did each time he entered this space?

      Kaleidoscopic images flowed into each other—standing at the communion table for his confirmation, holding Julie’s hand while they said their vows, watching his sisters get married. Unfortunately the happy images were swamped by the sad ones of sitting in the front pew looking bleakly at his father’s coffin and then, too soon, at Julie’s. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat, and concentrated on the arrangements of roses on either side of the chancel.

      A flutter of movement at the end of the pew distracted him, and he watched with disbelief as his mother half stood to wave to Charles Wayne. In another moment she’d beckoned the man to join them, and Wayne was sliding into the pew next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

      The organ sounded the notes of the opening hymn, and he stood, seething silently. So much for his assumptions about the way this morning would go. He sent his mother a look that he hoped conveyed his feelings, and she smiled back blandly, as if she enjoyed disconcerting him.

      He tried to concentrate on the service, tried not to be distracted by Charles’s presence in the family pew or by memories of the past. It wasn’t easy.

      Kristie pinched his arm, and he leaned over for her soft whisper. “Ms. Ellie plays pretty, doesn’t she?”

      He nodded. The organ was half-hidden by the pulpit, but he could see Ellie when she leaned forward. Her dark hair curled around her face as her hands moved to the organ stops. Her expression unexpectedly touched him. She was transported; that was all he could think.

      His gaze lingered on the line of her cheek, the soft smile that curved her lips. If not for the problem posed by her father, he might be thinking how attractive she was. Not his type, but appealing, with her vivid coloring and quick grace.

      In an instant he rejected the thought, appalled at himself. The pain of Julie’s death at the hands of a drunk driver was with him every day, even after two years. On the job, preoccupied with work, he managed to hold it at bay.

      But here in Bedford Creek, where they’d married, where she’d chosen to live when the corps sent him out West, it wasn’t possible. Each time he came home he had to mount a guard against the sudden onslaught of memory, pain, anger.

      He’d thought the anger would go away once the driver was in prison where he belonged, but that hadn’t happened. Instead it had stayed, burning at the back of his mind, singeing his very soul.

      He forced himself to pay attention to the message. Just concentrate, and the service will soon be over. He’d take his mother and daughter home, then sit his mother down for a serious talk about the danger to a well-off, naive widow posed by glib strangers.

      The last Amen sounded, and he tried to hustle his little party toward the door. But at least half the congregation wanted to greet him, and he couldn’t be rude, even though the sight of Charles lingering at his mother’s side sent his blood pressure rising.

      With a sense of relief he saw Ellie heading toward them, shedding her robe as she came. She’d probably detach her father.

      “Ellie,

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