Marta Perry - Unlikely Hero

“No.” She felt unaccountably embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t know. I suppose a strong minister just doesn’t fit my image.”

“You mean the stereotype of the guy who went into the ministry because he couldn’t be successful at anything else? The person who only has to work an hour a week?”

“Something like that.” He’d made her feel foolish, and she didn’t like that. “I don’t know enough about ministers to say whether that’s a stereotype or not.”

He gave her the look that seemed to probe beneath the surface. “I take it you’re not a churchgoer, Claire.”

“Me?” She dusted off the knees of her tan slacks. “Not likely.”

“Why not?”

The direct question put her on the defensive. “Haven’t you ever heard that you’re not supposed to ask people about their religion?”

His answering smile was easy, but his eyes were serious. “I’m not interviewing you for a job, so that hardly applies, does it?”

“I don’t know why you think it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t go to church.” If he wanted blunt, she could do blunt.

“I’m a minister. We’re interested in things like that. Didn’t you ever go to church?”

She shrugged, brushing past him. The storage closet was too small for conversation, especially with someone who didn’t seem inclined to respect her boundaries.

“I went when I was small. My mother took me. After she died, no one bothered with that.” She shrugged. “I haven’t ever seen the need for it. Sorry if that’s not a polite thing to say to a minister.”

“It’s honest. I’d rather hear honesty than the excuses some people come up with.”

He followed her out of the closet. He was still standing too close, and his gaze was too intent on her face. She’d already decided she wasn’t going to let Brendan get that close, hadn’t she?

“Well, that’s my story,” she said briskly. “Now, how many tables did you say you had?”

“Twenty-four, counting the ones in the church school rooms.” He accepted the change of subject. “Why do you need to know?”

Maybe she should have mentioned this little problem to Brendan before now. They were supposed to be working together, after all.

“I’ve been trying all week to find a place for the reception. No luck. We don’t have enough time. Everything decent is already booked for that day.”

“So you’re thinking of having the reception here.” He glanced around the social room.

She nodded, frowning at the combination of beige carpet and beige concrete block walls. “It doesn’t have the ambience I’d hoped for, but it will have to do. If that’s all right with your schedule, that is.” He could throw a spanner in the works if it wasn’t.

“That’s not a problem. What do Gabe and Nolie think about the idea?”

She shrugged. “They want a celebratory meal with family and friends. They don’t care where it takes place.” She looked around again. “So we’ll have to make this room into something special.”

“We?”

“You’re cooperating with me on the wedding arrangements, remember?”

Although if she were going to follow through on her resolution to stay clear of the Reverend, she ought to let him off the hook, shouldn’t she? For a moment the mix of feelings confused her.

She shook her head. “Look, you don’t have to do anything. Stacy and I can handle this.”

“Oh, I’ll help. I don’t know how to make centerpieces, if that’s what you have in mind.”

He’d probably back out if she told him everything she had in mind.

“That’s all right. The florist will take care of all that.”

“We have a florist?”

“Of course. You can’t have a wedding without a florist. Where do you think the bouquet comes from?”

That lock of chestnut hair had fallen on his forehead again, making him look about sixteen. For an instant, her fingers tingled with the impulse to brush it back for him.

“Believe it or not, Nolie and Gabe would be just as married if there were no flowers in sight.”

“Maybe so, but they’re not going to be. Now, what about folding chairs?”

She spun away. It was safer to look at the expanse of beige carpet rather than Brendan’s face.

“Enough for eight at each table, with maybe a dozen extra. We used to have more, but they get borrowed for events and then don’t come back.”

“That should do.” She scribbled the information down in the notebook she’d started with wedding arrangements. After the week she’d had—trying to juggle work, Stacy, and the wedding—if she didn’t make notes of everything she’d go crazy.

“Tell me something,” Brendan said.

She glanced at him and found he was watching her with a frown.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you just ask Siobhan for the information about the tables and chairs? She knows everything there is to know about the church.”

She shrugged. “No reason. I didn’t want to bother her, that’s all.” She’d be just as happy if he’d leave that subject alone, but she didn’t suppose he would.

“Bother her?” His eyebrows lifted. “I heard her offer to help you with the arrangements.”

“Thanks, but I can manage.” She snapped the notebook shut.

“Even if you can, that’s not the point.”

“Of course it is. I’m just doing what Nolie’s family would do, if she had any.” Why couldn’t he let it go? “The groom’s family is responsible for putting on the rehearsal dinner, that’s all. I don’t intend to impose on them for anything else.”

“You seem willing enough to enlist me.”

He had her there. “Only because you’re the one who wanted to make a deal, remember? Besides, you’re going to marry them, so you’d be involved to some extent anyway.”

“The family wants to help.” He had that look again— the one that said he’d keep digging until he understood what made her tick. “Why won’t you let them?”

She managed to keep a cool smile on her face. “Because I don’t want any help.”

“Why?”

Exasperation made her lose her grip on her temper. “You sound like a two-year-old. Why, why, why? Just leave my motives alone and take care of your part of this wedding, Pastor.”

Now she was the one who sounded like a two-year-old. In the middle of a tantrum.

But Brendan shrugged, seeming to accept at last that he wasn’t going to get anything else from her. “If that’s what you want.”

She turned away. His voice stopped her before she’d taken more than a couple of steps.

“But at least you could be honest with yourself about why you need to close out the Flanagan family from planning this wedding.”

“Okay, guys, hit the road. I need to lock up.”

Brendan held the gym door for the few teenagers who’d hung around to talk after a game of basketball. Claire had been meeting with Stacy this evening, and maybe he had finished in time to talk with her.

Claire had been evasive over the last few days. That was his fault. He’d pushed her too hard the last time they’d talked.

“Why don’t you let me have a key, Rev?” Rick Romero leaned against the door, one eyebrow lifted in a challenge. “I’d take good care of it.”

“Sorry, Rick. I’ve lost too many keys that way.” He kept his voice friendly, but firm.

“You mean you don’t trust us with a key.” Rick’s expression had darkened, his hair-trigger temper always ready to see offense whether intended or not. The other kids pressed behind him, primed to follow Rick’s lead.

“If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here at all,” Brendan pointed out. He held his breath, knowing the issue could go either way.

Rick glowered for another moment, and the situation hung in the balance. Then he shrugged, his smile flashing. “Hey, it was worth a try. See you later, Rev.”