Until that moment Heath had viewed Job merely as one more character from the stories he’d been told during childhood. Noah built his ark, Moses parted the Red Sea and Lazarus returned from the dead. Those were little more than fairy tales to Heath. Still, he loved a good superhero.
But Olivia was presenting a flesh-and-blood man whose trust in God overcame the worst trials Satan had up his sleeve. She made a convincing argument for faith and it was tempting to buy into her perspective.
Heath would keep that in mind. Charisma was an excellent shield. The world was full of smooth-talking leaders with hidden agendas. A disapproving puff of air rushed past Heath’s lips at the aggravating thought.
The point of an elbow poked against his ribs. Amos’s scowl indicated that Heath should bow his head, somebody was praying. He dipped his chin but slanted his eyes toward the others. He recognized a few faces from dinner, when he’d kept mostly to himself. During the meal he’d risked a glance across the room at Olivia. Her eyes were already fixed on him, affirming what he expected; she was keeping him under scrutiny.
And she should. He was a stranger, new on her turf, and as far as she knew he’d been convicted of a cyber crime. Yet he hadn’t seen any judgment in her eyes, only kindness.
The closing prayer droned on, so Heath’s gaze wandered back to the front of the room and homed in on Olivia. As if he’d tapped her on the shoulder, she looked up, gave him a brief smile and lowered her eyelids again.
“Shame on you,” Amos hissed when the meeting was dismissed.
“For what?”
“For lookin’ around when Bruce was praying.”
“If you’d been minding your own business you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“I was just checkin’ to make sure you were participating.”
“I agreed to attend. I never said I’d participate.”
“That’s true.” Olivia came to his rescue. “Heath is meeting all the requirements and he’s done an okay job.” She looked his way, her eyes wide with expectation. “So far.”
“It must be tough to get an atta boy around here,” he mumbled.
Olivia watched a sullen glaze settle in Heath’s eyes, like that of a brooding boy who longed for approval.
“Well, it’s a bit soon for praise, don’t you think? Give me a few days to see how you fold laundry and make beds.”
Heath’s shoulders slumped forward. He shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, hiding and folding in on himself in one motion.
Olivia couldn’t wait to get his enrollment forms and study them in her personal quarters upstairs, the only truly private area of the shelter. Something was up with this guy and she planned to figure it out during the time he’d be completing his community service.
“Come on, sugar cookie.” Velma appeared at Heath’s side. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
“I’ll take over from here,” Olivia was firm. She looked from Velma to Amos. “I need the two of you to get a final head count before we lock up for the night.”
“Alrighty, then.” Velma fanned her fingers in a goodbye and tugged at Amos’s sleeve to ensure that he was close behind.
“Thanks for joining us this evening.” Olivia acknowledged Heath’s presence in her Bible study.
“I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“You didn’t. But you attended without an argument and that’s appreciated.”
“Do you get much backtalk?”
Olivia couldn’t hold in a smile. The guy seemed clueless about the streets. Maybe his tough look was all for show and he really was a nerd in skater boy clothing after all.
“What’s so funny?” His brows drew together.
She motioned toward the coffee station and moved away from the conversation couches of the big room. She poured a cup and turned her back to the others as she offered it to Heath.
“Homeless folks can be unpredictable.” She kept her voice low. “Sometimes they’re so worn down by their circumstances that there’s no fight left. It’s all they can do to put one foot in front of the other each day looking for shelter and food. Other times they’re like cheap firecrackers. The fuse is already short and it’s just a matter of time before they explode.
“And, sadly, we get our fair share of clients with mental problems. We do the best we can, referring folks where better resources can meet their needs.”
He nodded. “So, if nobody melts down or blows a gasket it’s a good day.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.” Olivia tore off several sheets from the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser and began wiping up drips and splashes around the coffee urn.
Heath leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, shook his head. “Isn’t there a smarter way for a single lady to make a living? I mean, where’s your chance for advancement, your five-year plan?”
“Thoughtful questions from a guy spending his vacation in a homeless shelter because he was too shortsighted to consider the consequences of a prank against city government.”
Olivia couldn’t resist dishing it right back when Heath had the nerve to question the wisdom of her professional decisions.
“My bad.” Heath lowered his eyes, tapped the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum of the big room.
Was hanging his handsome head a sign of humility? Or shame? Or just an act?
Olivia planned to figure out which one it was but she didn’t need to get in a hurry. Heath still had about ninety-five hours left on his sentence, plenty of time for her to decide what made him tick.
Chapter Four
Even though Heath’s question could have been posed more diplomatically, he’d been straightforward in the asking. He deserved an honest response, and he was watching Olivia now with expectation in his brown eyes.
“You’re not the first person to inquire about my ambitions,” she noted in response. “As a matter of fact I had to justify myself to the zoning commission and then again to some local churches who give us financial support. Table of Hope is my calling, but it’s also my sole responsibility.”
“I heard your father funded this place.”
Her hands stilled, her gaze met his.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of cruel joke?”
He pushed away from the wall, stood tall. “No, and I’m sorry ’cause I can see I’ve offended you. Detective Biddle said you were the boss lady and I thought he mentioned something about your father.”
“He probably did.” She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she’d ever break free of the past. “I forgot you’re not from around here and you don’t know the Wyatt family history.”
She dropped to one knee to unlock the cabinet beneath the coffee bar. As she pulled the double doors wide, he moved closer and bent low to peer inside.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” Heath offered, his eyes glancing toward the contents of the storage shelves.
“Sure.” She moved aside, gave him access. “This area needs to be restocked a couple of times a day with just enough for a few hours. We