Forever with You. Farrah Rochon

her share of raised penciled-in eyebrows when she walked into the sanctuary this morning after being absent the past two weekends. That was more than enough censure for one day, thank you very much.

      “Leslie Kirkland, I swear you are an angel sent down from heaven.”

      Frustration at being discovered tightened the skin around her mouth, but her expression softened when she saw it was Nathan Robottom, owner of the hardware store in Gauthier, the tiny dot on the Louisiana map that Leslie had called home for more than a decade.

      Nathan clasped her hands between his roughened palms and gave them a gentle squeeze. “That solo this morning was the loveliest thing I’ve heard since the last time you sang a solo in church.”

      “That’s so nice of you to say, Mr. Nathan,” Leslie said, her lips stretching into a genuine smile. It was impossible not to love this old man. “How is Ms. Penelope? I noticed she didn’t join you this morning. I hope everything is okay.”

      “Aw, she’s fine,” he said, waving off Leslie’s concern. “Her gout flared up and she didn’t want to come limpin’ in the church. She’ll be sorry she missed your pretty singing.” He gave her hands a good-natured pat before heading to the other side of the church hall where day-old doughnuts were doled out after Sunday service.

      Leslie glanced at her watch again and decided that twenty minutes of fellowshipping should more than satisfy the deaconesses. She left her safe cubby in search of Kristi and Cassidy. Based on the trouble her daughters had given her when she’d woken them for church this morning, they should have been scratching at the doors to leave. As usual, they’d met up with friends and now she had to play Find the Kirkland Sisters.

      As her eyes roamed the crowded hall, Leslie spotted Clementine Washington and Claudette Robinson sitting at the church ministries sign-up table. She averted her gaze, trying not to make eye contact, but she wasn’t quick enough. The Two Cs rose from the table simultaneously and started straight for her.

      What would happen if she made a run for it? Just dashed right through the doors?

      “Leslie!” Claudette called, waving her arms to get her attention.

      Too late.

      “Ms. Clementine. Ms. Claudette,” Leslie greeted with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “How are you two doing this morning?” Please don’t ask me to join the Ladies’ Auxiliary. “I hope you’re both doing well.”

      “Oh, yes. And especially after hearing you sing,” Claudette said. “Girl, I know the spirit was moving in you.”

      “Amen,” Clementine added.

      “Thank you.” She smiled. Leslie just knew her cheek muscles were on the verge of staging a revolt after the workout she’d put them through today. “Well,” she said, clamping her hands in front of her, “I really need to find my girls. We have plans for this afternoon.”

      “Oh, I’m sure they’re out there with the youth ministry,” Claudette said. “Marsha and Lewis Marcel donated Popsicles for the little ones.” She slid a step closer to Leslie and leaned toward her. “And speaking of people who live out on Willow Street...”

      Confusion tugged at the corners of Leslie’s mouth. Huh?

      “Did you notice the way Sawyer Robertson was looking at you while you sang this morning?” Clementine asked.

      Leslie couldn’t prevent her eye roll even if the Eye Roll Prevention Wizard had granted her special powers. And her eyes were rolling. Hard.

      She should have known these two had something much more intrusive up their sleeves to ask her than joining the Ladies’ Auxiliary. In the month since Sawyer Robertson had moved into the charming colonial on Willow Street—only a few streets from where she lived in the residential area of downtown Gauthier—Leslie had encountered no less than a dozen people who were all too eager to make introductions.

      According to the gossip she’d overheard while browsing the produce section at the supermarket last week, the handsome divorcee, who had left Gauthier about three years ago, had just started a job with the state, though the gossipers had not been sure in what capacity. He hailed from one of Gauthier’s more prominent families, and both of the ladies had agreed that he probably didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

      Despite the town’s small size, Leslie had never had much interaction with Sawyer in the years before he’d hightailed it out of Gauthier. She hadn’t seen him much in the month since he’d returned, either, though she sure had heard his name enough.

      “Sawyer comes from good people,” Claudette said. “Rich as sin, but not uppity.”

      “Nope, never was uppity,” Clementine agreed. “I went to high school with his mama, Cheryl Ann. Cancer took her a while back.”

      “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Leslie said. “Didn’t his father die of cancer, too?”

      She knew at least that much about him.

      Clementine nodded. “Sawyer took care of Earl until he passed, then he sold the house, married that girl from New Orleans and moved somewhere up north.” Clementine clucked her tongue. “Don’t know what happened, but that marriage sure didn’t last long.”

      “You know what I heard,” Claudette started.

      Leslie held up her hand. “This really isn’t the place for that, is it? And I should really go—”

      Claudette’s face brightened. “Well, speak of the devil.”

      Leslie turned and just barely held in her groan at the sight of Eloise Dubois—another pillar of the church—and Sawyer Robertson walking toward them. Sawyer looked as though he’d been hit by a hurricane.

      Or three very determined deaconesses.

      “Look who I found in the parking lot,” Eloise said.

      “Why, Sawyer, you remember Leslie Kirkland, don’t you?” Clementine asked in the most pathetic attempt at subtly known to mankind.

       If only the floor could open up and swallow me...

      Or, better yet, let it swallow up the deaconesses.

      Leslie hid her frustration behind a smile as she stuck out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Sawyer.”

      The shimmer of understanding that flashed in his eyes put Leslie at ease. He sympathized. Of course he sympathized. They were in the same boat, being thrust together by a community of meddlesome, though well-meaning, people.

      “It’s nice to see you, as well,” he said.

      So, he had a really nice voice. And strong, yet soft hands. He wasn’t bad on the eyes, either. His smooth dark skin was practically flawless, and those obsidian eyes practically dared you to look away from him.

      But a pretty face had never been a selling point for her.

      “I was sorry to hear about Braylon,” he said. “All of Gauthier was proud of him when he joined the military. He served our country well.”

      Leslie nodded and smiled. The old nod and smile had become her rote response whenever talk veered in the vicinity of her deceased husband.

      “I really enjoyed your singing this morning,” Sawyer added, his tone lighter. “It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in a church. Your voice was a lovely homecoming.”

      He had that charm thing down pat. She was a sucker for a charmer, but still, no cigar.

      “Thank you,” Leslie said with another polite smile.

      He shifted from one foot to the other. So did she. The awkwardness was so tangible that Reverend Allan would demand it add money to the collection plate if it hung around much longer.

      Of course, it was hard not to notice the palpable awkwardness when the conversations around them had all but ceased, making it