Lakeside Sweetheart

Sometimes, he’d tag along on these welcome visits.

Not this time.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reach out to Vanessa. But he’d counseled enough members of the military to know that when someone didn’t want to listen, it was hard to talk to them. Rory had his ways of helping people to find their faith, and those ways didn’t involve being pushy and too in-your-face. He’d have to bide his time with Vanessa Donovan. He’d seen people hurt by those who used their own agenda in the name of the Lord.

It was never pretty.

So now, he raked and prayed and raked some more and tried to think about what he could have for dinner. Maybe he’d go to the Back Bay Pizza House and order a takeout meatball sub. Or maybe he’d swing by the Courthouse Café and get a big hamburger and fries before they shut down for the day. Or he could pull out his bike and ride around the lake and stop at the Fish Barrel, the new alfresco dining truck that offered up some really good grouper sandwiches, shrimp baskets and other local fare.

He was leaning toward the bike ride and the grouper sandwich when he heard a low, feminine groan echoing out over the street. Then he heard a thump and a crash, followed by another groan and the word “Ouch.”

Dropping his rake, Rory peeped around the corner of the storage shed behind the church and saw Vanessa standing in the front yard by an old wheelbarrow full of trash. He watched as she tried to move the wheelbarrow, but one of the wheels had obviously gone flat. The weight of the trash wasn’t helping matters.

That old thing wasn’t going to go anywhere except—

Onto its side.

It toppled over with a shudder of regret, causing another loud crash to reverberate up and down the street. Old glassware, plates, cups and other knickknacks spilled all over the driveway and sidewalk. And another groan of frustration followed.

Okay, now he had to walk over there because he had to be gallant and helpful, didn’t he?

“Need some help?” he called, to show he was only trying to be a gentleman.

She glanced around, surprise brightening her shimmering eyes. Surprise, followed by what might be dread. “I’m beyond help.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he told her, his hands on his hips. “But...this wheelbarrow is beyond anything. I hope these dishes weren’t important.”

She stared at the shattered mess lying at her feet. “No, not really.” But she picked up what looked like a children’s cup that had colorful princess characters on it. “Just stuff my mom had shoved into the garage out back. She was a bit of a hoarder.”

Rory heard the pain behind that comment. And saw that pain reflected in Vanessa’s eyes while she moved her fingers over the faded little plastic cup. “Was that yours?” he asked as an opening.

She nodded. “Once, long ago.”

“Where were you taking these things?”

“Out to the curb.” She tossed the cup back onto the pile. “I thought someone might come by and take them.”

He gave her time to get past what she had to be thinking. It must be hard to let go of so many memories. “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

She waved him away. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have nothing else to do,” he said. “I’ve been doing yard work, and I was about to quit for the day.”

She glanced at the church and then back at him, the struggle in her mind evident in her brooding expression.

“I guess I could use some help,” she said. “I have to clean this place up, and that shed is just the beginning. I want to put a lot of the items from the estate sale out there, on display.”

“Are you hiring an estate-sale manager?”

Her dark eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t planned on that since this is what I do for a living.” She stopped and stared at the little cup.

“You work as an estate-sale manager?”

“No, but I run a vintage shop in New Orleans and an online shopping site. Vanessa’s Vintage.”

“Then you do know what you’re doing. We’re planning a rummage sale at the church in a few weeks, and one of our members used to be an estate-sale manager. She offered her services free to us. But we could coordinate things with your sale. Maybe hold them on the same day since we’re neighbors.” He stopped, waited a couple of beats. When she didn’t scowl at him, he added, “That is, if you’re okay with that idea.”

She glanced at the church, and then she looked down at the old wheelbarrow. “I don’t know. I hope I’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

“Forget I suggested it,” Rory said. “You have too much on your mind to add a church rummage sale to the mix.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, pushing at her shoulder-length wavy bob. “I don’t know what I’m doing, really. I mean, I know vintage and collectibles, but I’ve never done this before. But I always managed to figure things out on my own.”

He picked up the princess cup. “Well, now you’re not on your own. You have help. Starting with me.”

She stared over at him, her gaze moving from his face to the pile of broken dishes. “And what’s in it for you, Preacher?”

Chapter Four (#ulink_ff8169f7-ccd4-5572-8ed6-b7fc8fd65389)

“What do you mean?”

Rory tried the tactic he used whenever someone asked him a disconcerting question. And prayed it would work on Vanessa.

She gave him a surprised glance, her brow furrowing. “It’s a simple question. You’re offering to help me. You must have a reason.”

“Wow. Does there have to be a reason?” Not sure how to handle this kind of skepticism, he leaned his head down and gave her a smile. “Part of my job is to help others. Part of my nature is to be sincere about it.”

She actually blushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve had a trying day and I have trust issues.”

He widened the smile. “You think?”

She shook her head and shot him a wry grin. “I guess I should loosen up, right?”

“No. Don’t do anything on my account. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

She laughed at that. “You look too young and carefree to be a preacher.”

He thought of the man who’d obviously hurt her. “Ministers come in all shapes and sizes. And personalities.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

He stuffed the cup inside one of the deep pockets of his baggy work shorts and started picking up the broken dishes in an effort to distract her. “Hey, if you find me a broom and a dustpan, I can get this done a lot quicker. And then I’ll be happy to buy you a cup of coffee or a cold drink.”

“So you can work me over?”

That skeptical imp again, hiding serious pain. “Work you over?”

She started walking backward toward the big shed beyond the open gate to the backyard. “You know, telling me that God loves me and that He can make things better for me?”