LITMIR.BIZ

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you, Sister Charity,” Rusty said, pausing beside them. “Did you just get off work? I didn’t realize you two had met.”

      Charity nodded at the question and forcibly dropped her hands to her sides, trying not to smile at Rusty’s habit of calling church members “brother” or “sister.” Hardly anyone else at church—especially anyone as young as Rusty—referred to other members that way. Finally, she responded to his second comment. “We haven’t really.”

      Rusty grinned and stood between them. “Charity Sims, I’d like you to meet R.J.—I mean Rick McKinley, owner of R and J Construction, the general contractor on the project.” He turned to his boss. “Rick, I’d like you to meet Sister Charity, another fine member of Hickory Ridge Church. Now if you two will excuse me…” He started to walk away but turned back. “Oh, tell your mother hello for me, okay?”

      Nodding, she turned back to Rick. He shoved his hair out of his eyes again. In need of a good cut, his hair was sun streaked from outdoor work.

      “Now, you were saying…” he prompted, interrupting her observation.

      “I was trying to say you could help me by turning off that awful music.”

      He shrugged, that infuriating grin returning, as he indicated with his head toward the boom box that was indeed already turned off. “So?” he challenged.

      Charity stiffened again, the power of her conviction making it impossible to relax. “You must know that music like that is inappropriate for work at a church setting.”

      He nodded slowly, tucking thumbs through his tool belt in a casual pose, but his chiseled jaw tensed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Sims, but music makes work easier for my crew. Especially on a holiday weekend when every other Michigander is fishing at a cabin up north or cruising the big lake.”

      Her arms folded again over her chest. How obtuse could this man be? “Mr. McKinley, it’s not music I’m opposed to. It’s the type you chose. Secular? Here at our church? What would people think if they drove up to meet with Reverend Bob Woods, our youth minister Andrew Westin or the deacons?”

      His gaze hardened, and he seemed to have tightened all over. Sturdy muscles in his arms strained against his shirt. “They’d probably think my construction crew was playing some music. It’s not even offensive music. Just run-of-the-mill pop.”

      “Whatever it is—” she paused, nodding toward the despised radio “—it doesn’t belong here at Hickory Ridge. I can’t believe you would defend it after I’ve made that clear to you.”

      “Oh, you’ve made something clear, all right.” He jutted his chin forward. “You’ve proved a point, but it has nothing to do with music.”

      Charity gritted her teeth, her face becoming hot. Why did she have to put up with this impossible man? “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I insist that you keep that music turned off.”

      He stared at her a few seconds, his gaze furious enough to make her step back if she weren’t so determined to hold her ground. The mission of the righteous was never easy. When she was certain she couldn’t stay in that position a second longer facing his challenging stare, he jerked his hand sharply and startled her.

      That hand ended up in an exaggerated salute at Rick’s forehead. “Yes, ma’am.” With that, he stalked over to the boom box, flipped the power switch and cranked the volume full blast.

      “I said turn it off,” she shouted.

      Rick glanced back at her and pointed to his ears, indicating he couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her hands tightened at her sides as she marched toward him. Rick McKinley would get a piece of her mind if she had to jam it right into his smug face. But when she got close enough to do just that, he didn’t even give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. Something behind her seemed to have all of his attention.

      Unable to resist seeing what was more important than listening to her, she glanced over her shoulder. Andrew Westin’s car pulled farther up the drive, past the aging farmhouse that served as a parsonage, right toward them.

      Her anger evaporated as embarrassment covered her like a sunbath. Charity shot a glance back at Rick before she turned to watch Andrew park and climb out of his car.

      Why did she continually make a fool of herself in front of men? Why had she blown her top over something as trivial as a radio station? Antagonism from an infuriating man wasn’t excuse enough. No matter what her reasons for rebuking the builder—or for that other unpleasant showdown in her past—she didn’t plan to wait around to face both of these guys together.

      “Obviously, I’m not going to get through to you, so I’m leaving,” she shouted, hiding behind a facade of anger. With that, she about-faced and stalked to the parking lot, passing Andrew without a wave. She wished she didn’t wonder about the looks focused on her back or why nothing made sense anymore.

      Chased by feelings that had everything—and nothing—to do with the two men behind her, she rushed to the car and her escape. Only after she’d shot up some gravel in the church drive and had reached Hickory Ridge Road could she finally let go of the breath she’d held. Her relief was short-lived, though, as it was followed by hot and humiliating tears.

      Chapter Two

      Andrew Westin’s lips moved, but Rick couldn’t hear a word over the blaring radio. Feeling sheepish for letting that self-righteous so-and-so push his hot button, Rick jogged over to the boom box and shut off the power. Great, now you’re going to lose the contract. What will you do next, spit at Reverend Bob?

      “Hey, Andrew, sorry about that.”

      But the youth minister only waved away the apology, his focus on Charity’s retreating car. A smile lit his face when he finally turned back to Rick. “Did you hear me, man? It’s a boy.” It didn’t seem to matter to Andrew that he looked like he hadn’t slept since the Fourth of July and his hair had hat head, minus the hat.

      “Oh, that’s great.” Rick stepped forward and gripped the other man’s hand. “Congratulations.” Andrew’s laughter was so contagious that Rick couldn’t help joining in, despite his sour mood.

      “It all happened so fast. He’s so tiny. It was exciting and scary. You just wouldn’t believe—”

      “Is the baby okay?” Rick interrupted, trying to decipher the cryptic dialogue. “Is your wife okay?”

      Andrew beamed as he breathed deeply and started again. “He’s great. Serena’s great. Eight pounds, twelve ounces. Him, not her. A head full of dark hair. That’s the both of them.” He stopped to chuckle at his joke. “Seth Michael Westin. Our boy.” He stepped away long enough to pass blue bubblegum cigars out to several crew members before handing one to Rick.

      What did that kind of joy feel like? Rick couldn’t begin to guess, and he refused to let himself wonder and risk wishing. “What good news,” he said when he could think of nothing else to say.

      Rusty saved him from further platitudes by hurrying through the framed area where they would eventually hang glass double doors. Never one to worry about his manly-man image, Rusty wrapped Andrew in a bear hug that had to hurt.

      “Brother Andrew, don’t tell me you got yourself a boy.” He slapped the youth minister’s back when he finally released him.

      “Sure did.” Andrew stuffed a plastic-wrapped gum cigar into the other man’s mouth. “He’s a keeper, too.”

      Rusty pulled the candy out of his mouth and twirled it in his fingers. “What does your sweet step-daughter think of her baby brother?”

      “Tessa hasn’t met him yet. I’m going to shower and then pick her up from Robert and Diana Lidstrom’s, so we can go visit Mommy and Seth.”

      “Did the delivery go okay?” Rusty asked the question casually, leaning against the sawhorse in the relaxed pose of a seasoned father of three.

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