A Time of Hope. Terri Reed

road she traveled was full of hard work. But someday she’d reach the end.

      Someday she’d find redemption, then she could pick and choose her path. Then maybe she’d find the happiness and connections she longed for. But until that day came, she’d do what needed to be done.

      Today she was scheduled to work on the project she’d started nearly six months ago.

      Transcribing Pastor Anders’s sermons and memoirs from his scribbled notes to the computer set up in his office.

      Correction. Pastor Durand’s office. In the cottage.

      How much hassle would moving the computer cause?

      She regretted she hadn’t brought up the project when they’d met yesterday, but he’d flustered her with his sharp wit and heavy-lidded, watchful eyes. If his scrutiny hadn’t been so intent she would have said he had puppy-dog eyes.

      But there was nothing soft and squishy about the man. It had taken everything in her to get out of there with some semblance of dignity.

      And worse, he seemed to find her amusing. Though she’d caught anger in his brown eyes when she’d questioned his age.

      The man was far too young and handsome to be a pastor. Granted he was two years older than she. But she felt ages older than twenty-four. Still, a tall, lean-muscled twenty-six-year-old pastor with a strong square jaw just wasn’t appropriate.

      He didn’t resemble what she thought a pastor should look like. Approachable, harmless. Good-natured with a ready smile. That certainly wasn’t Jacob Durand. There was something dark in his eyes, something forbidden.

      She’d expected, wanted, the new pastor to be like Pastor Anders. A man in need of an assistant. Older, willing to have her serve him and the church.

      She needed to be of service. But somehow she doubted Pastor Durand would understand as Pastor Anders had. He’d helped her through the worst years. Kept her from spinning toward depression with his suggestion she could find more useful ways of serving God than wallowing in self-pity.

      That’s when realization had come to her. If she wanted God’s forgiveness she needed to earn it.

      Her organizer lay on the farm-style kitchen table in the middle of the living room. She closed the book with a decisive snap, which dislodged a stray garnet-colored bead. The bead rolled off the edge of the table and landed in the green shag carpet. She plucked the bead from the fibers of the carpet and set it in the box with the rest of the materials she used for making jewelry.

      Time to finish what she’d started. She slipped into her brown leather walking shoes and briskly set out for the pastor’s residence. There were no cement sidewalks, so she walked on the paved road past the manicured yards of her neighbors. She admired the well-kept houses and wished she had the extra funds to fix up her house.

      But that wasn’t a priority.

      At the door of the pastor’s cottage, she hesitated. She could hear the strains of guitar music coming from inside. Apparently another difference between the old pastor and the new.

      Maybe she should have called, warned him she was coming over. She squared her shoulders. She had a job to do, and he was just going to have to let her do it.

      She rapped her knuckles loudly on the door. The music stopped. As she waited, she wiped the bottoms of her shoes, dirty from the road, on the shoe rug she’d bought for Pastor Anders last spring.

      Sudden tears sprung to the backs of her eyes. She missed the old coot. He’d been gruff and set in his ways, but she’d loved him like a grandfather. He’d become the closest thing to family she had in the world.

      Heavy footfalls sounded behind the door. Mara quickly forced her sadness down and blinked to clear the tears.

      The door opened. Pastor Durand stood on the other side wearing light-colored sweatpants with a matching sweat jacket unzipped to reveal a white T-shirt. The edges of his dark brown hair appeared slightly damp and his running shoes were rimmed with mud. Mud she suspected he’d tracked throughout the cottage.

      He cocked his head to one side. “Miss Zimmer, what can I do for you? Today isn’t Thursday.”

      “I know that,” she snapped, then promptly clenched her teeth. Not the best way to go about gaining his cooperation. She put on what she hoped was a pleasant smile. “Actually, I am scheduled to be here today.”

      His intense eyes darkened with annoyance and disbelief. “Really? What for?”

      “I need to use the computer. I’ve been working on a project Wednesdays and Fridays from nine to noon. I’ll just slip into the office, and you won’t even know I’m here.”

      “I doubt that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you want to use the computer in my office.”

      She blinked. “Yes. But…” She made a hopeful face. “I could move the computer to my house and then return it when I’ve completed my project.”

      Amusement now danced on his face. “Doesn’t the computer belong to the church?”

      Her hope that he’d go for the offer wobbled. “Yes. But the work I’m doing is for the church.”

      “You don’t have your own computer?”

      “No.” She didn’t explain that her budget wouldn’t allow for the expense.

      He shrugged. “I may need the computer at some point.”

      The hope took a nosedive and crashed with a burn in her stomach. “Then I guess I need to continue to work here.”

      He studied her for a moment, and she had the strangest urge to primp. She lifted her chin.

      The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth and determination solidified on his handsome face. “Grace tells me you helped the late pastor organize for services. I could use some help, as well. And since Uncle Ben and Aunt Abby are busy with the feed store, I could use a tour guide. Someone to show me the ropes of small-town living. In exchange, I’ll give you unlimited access to the computer.”

      Wariness kicked up its heels in her chest. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need unlimited access. Just Wednesday and Friday mornings.”

      He laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Whatever. Is it a trade?”

      Mara tugged on her bottom lip with her front teeth. She did need to finish the project as a way to honor Pastor Anders, and helping Pastor Durand would count a lot toward the debt she owed God.

      She made up her mind. “Yes. We have a trade.” She opened her organizer. “I’ll find time in my schedule to help you get acquainted with Hope and the church.”

      “I’d appreciate it.”

      Her cheeks heated. “Can I get to work now?”

      “By all means.” He stepped aside and motioned for her to proceed.

      She crossed the threshold and entered the cottage. The smell of rich coffee permeated the air. A portable CD player sat on the dining room table surround by stacks of CDs, and a guitar sat propped up in the worn, brown leather recliner in the living room.

      “Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he shut the door behind her.

      She ran a hand over the brim of Pastor Anders’s hat, remembering how he always wore the hat tapped down low over his ears whenever he left the house.

      “You miss him,” Pastor Durand said.

      She looked up and found him watching her. The open, caring expression on his face made her heart pause. To hide her discomfort at knowing he’d glimpsed her grief, she answered his first question. “Coffee would be fine, thank you.”

      Without comment, he went to the kitchen, and she went into the office. Nothing had changed as far as she could tell since the last time she’d worked in here. The metal desk that had come