Kathryn Springer - The Prodigal Comes Home

“Gran, why don’t you finish your nap while I unpack?”

“That sounded more like an order than a suggestion.” Gran had chuckled, the sparkle back in her eyes. “Between you and Matthew, I’m going to be spoiled rotten.”

You and Matthew.

Her grandmother’s words cycled through Zoey’s mind and she yanked the pillow over her head. It didn’t, however, blot out the image of Matt Wilde’s handsome face or erase the warmth of his smile from her memory.

Maybe, Zoey thought, it was all right to hold onto the memory of that smile a little bit longer.

When people started talking about her—and Zoey knew they would—she was pretty sure she wouldn’t see it again.

“Gran! What are you doing?” Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to stare her grandmother down.

The house had been so quiet while she’d finished putting away her things that Zoey assumed Gran was still sleeping. Not standing on her tiptoes in front of the fireplace, attacking the flock of porcelain birds perched on the mantle with a bright-yellow feather duster.

“Dusting?” Gran stared right back.

“I can see that.” Zoey’s lips twitched. At least her grandmother had the grace to look guilty. “My next question is, why are you dusting?”

“Because I could have sworn I heard one of these poor birds sneeze.”

Zoey gave up trying to keep a straight face and laughed. “I have a great idea. It involves you sitting in your favorite chair, sipping a cup of tea by the fire, while I take care of the birds. And anything else that you’re planning to clean the minute my back is turned.”

“A cup of tea sounds wonderful, but sharing your company while I drink it sounds even better.”

There was no mistaking the sincerity in her grandmother’s voice.

Regret tangled with gratitude. For the past six years, Zoey had told herself that the best thing she could do for her grandparents was stay away from Mirror Lake. She’d caused enough heartache without an occasional visit stirring up the past.

Zoey was beginning to realize she’d been wrong to let that particular rationalization create such a rift between them. But she hadn’t known how to bridge it, not until her mother had left the message expressing her concern about Gran managing on her own while she recovered from pneumonia.

Zoey had been praying that God would help her move forward, but she hadn’t expected it would mean facing the past. It was as if He had opened a door for reconciliation and left it up to Zoey to decide whether to walk through it. A few hours later, she’d been driving north.

“I’ll make the—” Gran paused when Zoey raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll let you make the tea.”

“Great. Then we have a deal.” Zoey patted the arm of the chair and waited for her grandmother to comply. Gran looked more rested from her nap, but the purple smudges under her eyes hadn’t faded. The steps she took were slow and careful, as if she had to concentrate on every one.

Zoey resisted the urge to hover as Liz lowered herself into the chair.

“I’m afraid that I’m used to being useful,” she admitted.

“I know.” Zoey draped an afghan over her grandmother’s lap. Ten years was a long time but not long enough for her to forget how Gran loved to keep busy, deliberately placing herself at the center of a whirlwind of activity, especially when it came to her church.

Unbidden, Matt Wilde’s face appeared in her mind. She still couldn’t believe the church had hired someone so young.

And single.

Zoey ignored the mischievous inner voice. So she’d happened to notice that the pastor hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. What difference did it make? A man as kind and drop-dead gorgeous as Matt had to be in a serious relationship. Probably even engaged…

And why on earth do you care?

Even if she had time to date, which she didn’t, Zoey knew she would never consider a serious relationship with someone involved in ministry. As the daughter of a pastor-turned-missionary, Zoey had buckled under the weight of peoples’ expectations. There was no way she would put herself into that situation again.

Not that someone like Matthew Wilde would ever ask her to…

Zoey put the brakes on those wayward thoughts before they could take her any further down that dangerous path.

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time, Gran,” she promised. “And you are being useful. You’re going to tell me what to do, remember?”

“All right.” Gran smiled. “While you finish dusting, you have to tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last ten years.”

Zoey took a deep breath. “I’d rather tell you about the last six months.”

A look of understanding dawned and tears sprang into Liz’s eyes. “You’re a believer now, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been a believer a long time,” Zoey said softly. “Now, I would have to say that I’m a…follower.”

“Delia Peake is here to see you, Pastor.” Cheryl Mullins, the part-time church secretary, looked up as Matt walked in. “She wanted to wait in your office.”

“And you didn’t want to tell her no.” Matt grinned.

“I’d rather sharpen a pencil with my teeth.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.” Cheryl patted her very pregnant belly. “I’m a month from my due date and the doctor told me to avoid stress.”

“Then you made the right decision.” Matt glanced at the clock on the wall. He usually left the church at four, but experience had taught him that pastors didn’t hold to regular hours. He was on call 24/7.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You don’t have to stick around, Cheryl. I can lock up when I leave.”

His secretary didn’t bother to hide her relief. “Great.

I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Matt walked down the narrow hallway, he heard the muffled tap tap tap of Delia’s walking cane against the faded Berber carpet in his office.

“Hello, Mrs. Peake.”

She had bypassed a comfortable chair by the window and commandeered the one behind the desk. His desk.

Matt’s lips twitched as he pulled up another chair.

“Pastor Wilde.” From the first time they’d met, Delia insisted on addressing him more formally than the rest of his congregation, most of whom called him by his first name. “How is Liz?”

It had become a common question over the past few weeks, given the fact that Matt was not only Liz’s pastor, but also her closest neighbor. “She seems to be doing a little better.”

Especially now.

For most of the day, Matt had found his thoughts drifting back to Zoey. Wondering how she and Liz were doing. What they were talking about. When one of the men in his congregation had called and asked for some insight on a passage of scripture, Matt had jumped at the chance to focus his attention on something else. And it didn’t hurt that their discussion had taken place while they split a cord of firewood.

After Matt was hired, he made sure people knew he wanted to see them for more than an hour on Sunday mornings. He wanted the majority of his ministry to take place outside the walls of the church.

Delia pursed her lips. “When I called her yesterday, Liz wasn’t in a very talkative mood.”

“I’m sure she was just tired.” Matt linked his hands behind his head. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Peake?”

The question didn’t bring about the results he’d hoped for—nudging Delia back on track.

“She’s a stubborn woman, our Liz. When I visited her at the hospital last week, she mentioned that she’s still planning to direct the Easter cantata next month.” Delia shook her head. “Of course I told her that she wouldn’t be in any shape to take on that responsibility this year.”