Unlikely Hero

Brendan put his hand gently on Stacy’s and fought down the tidal wave of black anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t give in to the anger. That would make him no better than the person who’d done this. He had to concentrate on her.

“What happened, Stacy? Did Ted do this to you?”

Stacy’s boyfriend was the likely culprit. The girl’s mother seemed to play little role in Stacy’s life, as far as he’d been able to find out the few times Stacy had stopped by the church with some of the neighborhood teens.

“No!” Her response was emphatic, and her hand flew up to shield her eye. “Ted wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.” She jerked away from him, as if ready to flee.

“Right. I’ll bet you walked into a door.”

Claire’s voice startled him. In his concern for Stacy, he’d forgotten she was there.

He frowned at her. Sarcasm wasn’t what Stacy needed at a time like this.

Claire was looking at the girl, and something in her gaze gave him pause. She looked—he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost as if she saw something familiar in Stacy.

He gave himself a mental shake. Claire was all chilly edges and expensive sophistication, from the top of her shining mahogany hair to the tips of the shoes that had probably cost more than he’d made last month. She couldn’t have anything in common with one of his lost street kids.

“Yeah, that’s right. A door.” Stacy snapped the words at Claire, but she leaned back against the pew, her impulse to run apparently vanishing. “I was clumsy.”

Something unspoken seemed to pass between her and Claire.

“Easy to do in the dark,” Claire agreed. She leaned over, touching Stacy’s chin to tilt her head back for a better look. “You ought to get some ice on that shiner.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, almost cool, but Stacy appeared to respond to it. She nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Brendan sat back on his heels. Nothing in his brief acquaintance with Claire Delany had led him to believe she could relate to anyone outside her yuppie world, but he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes.

“We can get some ice in the kitchen,” he said. “But it seems to me you need a place to stay tonight. Someplace where you won’t be walking into any more doors.”

Stacy shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I could just sleep here.” She patted the cushioned pew.

He could imagine the reaction of some of his parishioners if they learned he’d let a kid spend the night in the sanctuary. He’d already heard some sharp comments about letting neighborhood teens use the gym.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said gently. “There’s a shelter—”

“No!” Stacy shot upright, clutching her jacket with both hands. “I’m not going to any shelter. I can take care of myself.”

That was just what she couldn’t do, but she’d never admit it.

“Look, Stacy, you need a safe place.”

“No shelter.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line, and she grabbed the back of the pew. “I better get going.”

“Wait.” He put his hand on his arm. He couldn’t let her walk away. “Just give me a minute, okay? I need to talk to Claire about something.”

She gave him a wary look, but something in his expression must have allayed her suspicion. She nodded, subsiding back onto the seat.

He straightened, taking Claire’s arm to draw her back to the doorway. “I’m sorry about this.” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our conversation.”

That determined jaw of Claire’s seemed to get a little firmer. “I suppose so. What are you going to do with the girl?”

He kept his voice soft. No need for Stacy to hear. “Find a safe place for her to stay tonight. One of my parishioners will take her in, I’m sure.”

“And what about after that? A bed for the night doesn’t solve the problem.” Something he couldn’t interpret shadowed the deep brown of Claire’s eyes.

“It gives us time. By tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk with me.” He hoped.

Claire’s face tightened. “By tomorrow she’ll run right back to the person who gave her that shiner.”

“That’s a pretty cynical assessment.”

“It’s a practical one.”

There was some undercurrent in her words that he didn’t quite get. “Anyway, I’m sorry about this.” He touched her hand lightly in mute apology.

Claire looked up at his touch, something startled and wary in her gaze, and then she took a step back. She glanced past him to where Stacy slumped in the pew.

“Take care of yourself, Stacy.”

She smiled at the girl. His breath caught. That smile transformed Claire’s sharp face for a moment, turning her into someone lively and caring.

“Thanks for understanding,” he said, shaking himself out of it.

She nodded and pushed open the door behind her. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning. I have to get going on the wedding. We only have a month.”

Caution stirred. “We’d better talk with Gabe and Nolie before making any decisions.” We? How had he gotten into this, anyway?

“Of course.” Her smile suggested that she was taking his cooperation for granted. “We’ll do that.”

The door swung shut behind her, and he tried to dismiss an uneasy feeling. He’d managed nervous grooms, tearful brides and overbearing mothers in his time. He could surely handle one determined best friend.

In the meantime, he had Stacy to take care of. He’d better find a parishioner to take her for the night. Then he could—

Well, then he could try to find Ted. The black anger roiled again, under control but always there, always warning him of what he could become if he weren’t careful.

Please, Lord. He didn’t need to form the rest of the prayer. God had heard it often enough from him.

Stacy wasn’t the only one who should probably wait until tomorrow to discuss this.

“Come on, Stacy. Let’s get that ice for your face while I make a few calls.”

He had to focus on Stacy’s needs right now. Even as he told himself that, Claire’s unexpected smile blossomed again in his memory, softening the jagged edges of her personality and turning her into someone he wanted to know better.

Maybe, if it meant seeing that smile more often, working with Claire on the wedding wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

Claire swatted at the insistent alarm clock with a groan. She hadn’t gotten her usual eight hours, thanks to Pastor Brendan and that girl. Stacy’s battered face had refused to be dismissed from her mind. Even after she’d fallen asleep, the image had intruded on her dreams.

She pushed herself out of bed, toes curling into the plush carpet, and padded across to the bathroom. Those bad dreams hadn’t haunted her in a number of years, until last night. Her reaction to the girl had proved they weren’t banished entirely.