Endless Chain. Emilie Richards

leader. “Just smash it and let’s get out of here.”

      “I’m not going to let you,” Elisa said, as calmly as she could. “And I’ve seen you, every one of your faces. If you damage this sign, I will remember and describe you, one by one.”

      The boy in the lead looked torn. His thoughts were easy to read. If he was arrested, someone in his life would not be happy about it.

      She lowered her voice and hoped what she had to say was just for his ears.

      “I have a brother. I know it’s hard to stand up for yourself, but you have better instincts than this. I know you do.”

      “Yeah, Leon,” one of the closer boys said. “You have girly man instincts. Even the Mex can see it.”

      As if propelled by those words, Leon stepped directly in front of her, as if he planned to walk right through her. She put her hands against his shoulders and shoved. He stumbled backward, clearly caught off guard. She took that brief moment to move backward to the sign and stand firmly against it. “You will have to hit me first,” she said. “Are you willing?”

      “That’s enough! What is going on here?”

      None of them had noticed the approach of a man dressed in a blue polo shirt and khakis. The boys turned as the man bore down on them, and, as one, they stepped backward. Leon moved away so quickly Elisa could feel a breeze.

      “Leon Jenkins.” The man moved to stand just in front of the boy and grabbed him by one shoulder. “Let’s hear an explanation.”

      “Get your hand off me.”

      “When I’m good and ready.” The man reached out, twisted the sledgehammer from Leon’s hand and tossed it on the ground behind him.

      Elisa heard voices and turned her head to see a small group of women approaching from the direction of the parking lot. She slumped against the sign, sure now that she was out of danger.

      “Just what is going on?” one of the oldest of the women demanded.

      “Some of the local youth were planning to renovate our new sign,” the man said. His voice was low and controlled. He still sounded furious.

      The other boys looked at each other, then whirled and took off for the pickups.

      “Stay out of their way,” the man told the women. He didn’t take his eyes off Leon, who was squirming and clawing at his hand. Only when the pickups were out of sight did the man’s hand fall to his side.

      “Exactly why?” he demanded.

      The boy backed away, but he didn’t run. Where could he go now? Clearly he would be caught and humiliated further if he tried.

      Elisa saw the boy’s fear and his realization that nothing good could come of this. She was unaccountably moved. Now she saw a boy, just a boy like her brother, and no longer a threat. She stepped forward and rested her fingertips on the man’s arm. “He didn’t hurt me,” she said. “Not even when I pushed him away.”

      “He might have tried.”

      “No, it was the sign he wanted.” She turned to the sign now and read the words out loud. It was an ordinary church sign, announcing the times of services and the name of the minister. Only the last sentence, in Spanish, was at all unusual. “Todo el Público es Bienvenido a los Servicios de La Iglesia Comunitaria de Shenandoah.” The Shenandoah Community Church welcomes everyone to its services.

      She shook her head. “You welcome everyone. A thoughtful gesture to put the words in Spanish? But controversial because you’ve targeted the Latino community? There are those who would prefer we go elsewhere?”

      “Jesus ran into the same problem,” the man said.

      Elisa turned back and addressed the boy. “But you’re sorry, aren’t you? Because I don’t think you really feel that way, do you? You just made a mistake today.” She lifted a brow and cocked her head to prompt his answer.

      The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and thrust back his shoulders. He looked as if he was going to argue; then he slumped. “Yeah. I guess.”

      “Guess?” the man demanded. “Your father’s a deacon in this church, Leon.”

      “So? He hates the sign worse than I do.”

      “But you’re old enough to begin thinking for yourself.” Like the boy’s, the man’s posture became less defensive. “Shall you tell your father, or shall I?”

      “He hates your guts.”

      A muscle jumped in the man’s jaw. “If anything happens to that sign, I’ll report this incident to the police. You can tell your friends they’d better stay away, unless they’re here to join in church activities. Then they’ll be welcome. Otherwise, at the first sign of vandalism anywhere on these grounds, I’ll hunt them down and have a little chat with their parents and yours. Understand?”

      The boy gave a curt nod.

      The man gestured toward the group of women watching on the sidelines. “You’ve got a long walk. I suggest you get started. None of these ladies is planning to give you a ride home.”

      The boy took off at a fast clip along the route that Elisa had just traveled.

      Only then did the man turn to her. For the first time she had the opportunity to really take stock of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was the color of darkly roasted coffee, his angry eyes a blue so intense they were the most arresting feature in an immensely attractive face.

      “Thank you.” He held out his hand. “Sam Kinkade. I’m the minister.”

      She had already guessed that. She extended her hand. “Elisa Martinez. I hope I’ll be your new sexton.”

      They stared at each other longer than politeness called for. In those unexpectedly charged seconds, she warned herself of a hundred different things. The incident with the boys had left her shaken and vulnerable. This man might well be her new employer. She was lonely and worried about getting this job. The talk of police had frightened her. Adrenaline was pumping through her body.

      And still, if she subtracted all those things and added in years of hard-earned caution and the fact that she could not afford even the briefest foray into romance, she was still left with a strong attraction to Sam Kinkade.

      “Well, go ahead and hire her right now, preacher,” one of the women, the oldest, demanded, moving closer. “What other proof do you need that she can do the job? A signed statement from the Almighty?”

      Chapter Two

      SAM TURNED TO the old woman and managed a smile. His anger was just beginning to fade. He was not easily provoked, but by the same token, he was not easily placated. “Thank you, Helen. I’ll take your recommendation into consideration.”

      “You do that, and don’t you try to humor me. I saw the whole thing. We could use somebody around here who takes matters into her own hands. If she’s not scared of that gang of teenage thugs, she won’t be scared of a little dirt.”

      Sam walked over and slung his arm around Helen Henry’s shoulders, steering her back toward the church, which was not an easy job. She was a big-boned woman in her eighties, but she still knew how to do a day’s work. The church had been a far more boring place before she started coming regularly, and before the quilters organized and commandeered the Beehive.

      Sometimes he was nostalgic for boredom.

      “How’s the quilt coming?” He knew this subject would take them all the way inside.

      The other women started heading inside. He walked back to Kate Brogan, who was standing ten yards behind the others, and he scooped the flailing Rory out of his mother’s arms and set him on his hip, leaving Kate with only shy baby Bridget.

      Sam paused a moment and turned