“Max, come inside, look around.” Melody took hold of his hand and dragged him in.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the expression on Sierra’s face. For a moment, she looked sad. He wondered why.
“We should go now,” Max told his sister. “I’m sure Ms. Lawson has other clients, other things to do. Not that this hasn’t been extremely fun for her.”
“I’m sorry, Sierra, I should have realized...” Melody hugged the wedding planner again. His sister didn’t notice the other woman freeze up. “I’ve just been so excited to show Max everything. I knew he wouldn’t really appreciate the details, but I knew he’d pretend.”
“I’m glad for your sake that he pretended,” Sierra said, putting some distance between her and his sister.
“Okay, we’ll go, now that my brother is properly impressed. But, Sierra, I would like to extend an invitation to you, to participate in some of our pre-wedding activities.”
“Pre-wedding activities?”
Melody walked back down the stairs, staying next to Sierra while Max forged on ahead of them. He knew the look in his sister’s eyes, the one that said she had a plan.
“Yes,” she went on. “We’re sewing a honeymoon blanket. It’s a very old Assyrian tradition and my grandmother insisted. We are all taking part. My mother, grandmother, sister, myself, aunts, cousins. My quilt is patchwork, a little of the old country with the new. If you’ll join us in the next couple of weeks, just bring maybe a scrap of material from an old shirt of yours. I want to make this blanket about the people in my life.”
Sierra opened her mouth as if to object. Max had stopped in the large entry foyer and he watched, waiting for her to come up with an excuse. Not that Melody would accept excuses.
He knew what his sister was up to. She liked the wedding planner, thought she was lonely and in need of someone. And he was that someone. His sister had always been a fixer, even as a child. When he had gone through his destructive teen years, she’d been the one constantly trying to find a way to bring him back to himself. She would plant herself in front of him, demand he stay home and read a book, help her with a school project, anything to try to win him back.
“Melody, it’s time to go.” He motioned her toward the door.
“Don’t get all bossy businessman with me, Maximus St. James.”
Sierra laughed a little.
“And this is why I don’t like to take her places,” he told Sierra. “Time for us to go home, Mel. Nonni is cooking tonight and you know she wants us all there.”
Melody gave Sierra another quick hug. He would have to explain to her that she needed to pay more attention to social cues. Sierra Lawson had a bubble and she didn’t want people stepping inside it.
He was more than willing to respect her wishes even if his little sister wasn’t. He hadn’t come here looking for ties to this community. He’d only come to make amends. Hope, Oklahoma, wasn’t his home anymore. In this small town he still felt the past hanging over his head. Everyone knew his stories.
Except Sierra Lawson.
But he doubted she was curious about him. She had her own stories. Stories she didn’t seem to want to share with anyone.
That was just fine with him.
Sierra waited until the church bells rang before she entered the sanctuary and found a seat in the back on Sunday morning. Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one sliding in at the last minute. The doors opened and another latecomer entered.
This time Pastor Stevens noticed. He had just made a few announcements but he paused and smiled.
“I know several visitors are with us today. Why don’t we take a moment to greet our newcomers, and even those you might not have had a chance to shake hands with.”
Sierra groaned.
“Thought you could sneak in unnoticed?” Isaac West asked as he held out a hand. At least he knew she didn’t like hugs.
But the huggers were out there, lurking, waiting to wrap warm and welcoming arms around her. She winced at the thought.
“I tried,” she admitted.
Before she could say more, she was surrounded. It felt a lot like a mob but she knew it was all about well wishes and not an actual mobbing. She eased away from the push of people, smiling and acknowledging their warm welcome while trying to beat back the claustrophobia that darkened the periphery of her vision. Somehow she managed to speak to an older woman who held her hand, telling her how glad they were to see her.
Someone else reached for her other hand.
She reminded herself that this was good. People were friendly. They were all glad she’d shown up. They didn’t know about her past, about growing up in the midst of her parents’ destructive relationship or the weeks she’d spent being held captive in Afghanistan.
Taking a deep breath, she managed to smile as she started to back away. She desperately needed space. The urge to be free of the crowd started to claim her in its grip.
“Leave it to me.” A solid chest brushed against her back and a deep but concerned voice rumbled near her ear. She didn’t turn. She knew who that voice belonged to. She didn’t want to rely on him, on anyone.
But now wasn’t the time to argue.
“We’re going to find our seats now. I think the service is about to start,” Max said with an air of authority that had the crowd moving away, reclaiming their seats. His hand, strong and warm, held her arm. The touch grounded her.
She allowed him to take control, moving them to the refuge of a back pew. He released her arm as she took a seat but then he slid in next to her. Of course he did. He’d made it clear that they needed to find a seat before the service started. He’d said, “We’re.” Didn’t he know how small towns worked and that he had given people, even kind and well-meaning people, something to talk about?
“Are you okay?”
She wanted to tell him to mind his own business. That she could take care of herself. But all of the caustic remarks were buried beneath a layer of gratitude. She rarely allowed anyone to shelter or protect her. She didn’t know why it was him, a stranger.
Maybe it was easier to allow a stranger into her life than to lean on friends who had already done so much and knew too much.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t tease or mock. He merely nodded and reached for a hymnal that he handed to her. He took the other one in the back of the pew.
“I’m not always like this,” she felt compelled to add.
“I know.”
“Do you?” She lowered her voice, aware that one or two heads turned to give her a look. She didn’t wait for his answer, instead she joined the singing, not wanting to disrupt the service.
The music seemed to be God’s way of drawing her close to Him. It’d always been this way. Even as a child she would make excuses to ride her bike on Sunday morning so she could sit outside the neighborhood church and listen to the congregation sing. She never went in. Her father wouldn’t allow that. He hadn’t been a believer, so no one else had been allowed to believe.
The music touched the dark, hurting places in ways that sometimes the words of a sermon couldn’t. Even now, the music chased away the memories that had started to drag her down. It lightened