“Between Rick and Kyle, who are the biggest hockey addicts in the world, you’ll soon learn,” Sara teased. “Do you like milk with your cinnamon buns?” Noah’s eager nod made her laugh. “So does Kyle. What about your mom?”
“Sh-she’s on a d-diet so s-she won’t g-get f-fat.” Noah actually grinned when the others burst into laughter.
“Noah Crockett! I am not.” Cassie flushed a rich red.
“Bad mistake, Noah, my man,” Rick told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Let me give you some advice. Never mention the words fat or diet in the presence of a woman.” He leaned over and whispered very loudly, “It makes them grumpy.”
Cassie and Sara shared a look.
“Here come the rest of the boys,” Sara said. “They were at a sledding party.”
When the current residents trooped into the kitchen, Sara introduced Cassie and Noah. “These fine fellows are Barry, Rod and Peter,” she said. “Michael and Daniel won’t arrive until tomorrow and Bryan is upstairs with Laurel,” she explained to the boys. “He’s not feeling well. I suppose you’re not hungry in the slightest after the sledding party.”
As one they began to protest.
Sara grinned. “Yeah, dumb question. After you wash you can join us.”
As they rushed to comply, Kyle left to answer the phone. Rick noted Noah hadn’t engaged any of the other boys, simply nodding at the introduction and returning to his music.
Rick knew why. That stutter was going to cause problems.
The first time he’d spoken to Noah he’d felt a familiar nudge in his heart. Experience told him that was God’s prodding and it meant he was to help Noah. But how?
A moment later he had his answer.
When Sara disappeared inside the walk-in cooler leaving them alone, Rick decided to sound out Cassie while her son was still involved in his music, before the others returned.
“Noah told me his dad killed himself,” he murmured. “That must have been very hard for you.”
Her whole body dropped as if he’d settled a weight on her shoulders. Silence stretched between them. Finally Cassie spoke.
“Very hard, but harder on Noah, I think.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help,” he offered.
It was obvious Cassie struggled to accept his offer. But after a long moment, she nodded.
“There might be.”
“Just name it,” he said.
“Would you be able to talk to Noah the same way you talked to Bryan?” Cassie asked in a hushed voice. “He’s been hurting, trying to understand why his father would do that. I can’t seem to reach him. But you might, the way you did with Bryan.”
Rick’s heart swelled with compassion for this mother’s hurting heart.
“Please?” she whispered.
“I don’t know that it will make any difference, Cassie, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help Noah,” Rick said, just before the other boys burst into the kitchen. He leaned closer. “The offer is open to you, too, if you want.”
She shut down—there was no other way to express it. “Thank you, but I don’t talk about the past. I appreciate whatever you can do for Noah, though.”
It was a warning. Back off. And yet as he sipped the coffee Sara had served him, Rick knew he was going to have a hard time doing that. Her husband’s suicide had affected her whether she admitted it or not. He had a hunch that refusing to discuss it was doing just as much damage to her spirit as it was to Noah’s.
Don’t get involved, his brain chided again.
She’s hurting, his soul answered. Am I not here to help others? How else can I make amends for my past?
His brain was ready with a retort.
Is it only amends you want to make? Aren’t you also trying to impress her?
His conscience reminded him that he needed to keep his motives clear, to focus on his mission.
He lifted his head and found a pair of beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Staying focused on his goal definitely wasn’t going to be easy.
Chapter Three
“What’s wrong, Rick?” Lucy Clow demanded on Saturday morning.
The diminutive septuagenarian, retired missionary and acting church secretary laid a model airplane kit on his desk.
“What’s that?” he asked instead of answering.
“Vacation Bible School crafts for next summer, if you approve. I bought a ton of airplane kits online.” Wispy tendrils of Lucy’s snow-white hair straggled across her furrowed brow.
“Cool. Thanks for thinking ahead.” Rick loved this woman’s heart for God’s work. “You’ve been poking at your hair again,”
“Forget my hair.” The way Lucy clapped her hands on her hips made it clear he wouldn’t escape her question. “Tell me what’s eating you.”
“Noah Crockett.” Rick leaned back in his chair. “He’s closed himself off. I promised his mother I’d help him, but I’m not making much progress.”
“With his mother?” Lucy laughed at his expression and sat on a nearby chair. “There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, Rick.”
“You know I can’t get involved that way with a woman, Lucy. I’ve told you about my vow to God.”
“I know what you promised God. I’m just not sure He asked for or even wanted your promise.” Lucy frowned at him. “You keep beating yourself up over the past when God’s already forgiven you. How is that any different from Noah acting out and staying aloof?”
“Noah hasn’t hurt hundreds of people with his greed. I have. I thought I was too smart to get caught in a Ponzi scheme. That guy took all the money I handed over and instead of investing it, he used it to pay off his old clients.” He groaned at his colossal ego. “Who else but an arrogant, materialistic creep would write a know-it-all book on how to beat the system and then lose his clients’ money as well as his own to a slick-talking salesman?”
“God forgave you, Rick,” Lucy murmured. “Forgive yourself.”
“I can’t.” He sipped his now-cold coffee. “Not when that stupid book keeps selling and there’s not a thing I can do to stop it.”
“I noticed the royalty check when I deposited the offering last week,” Lucy murmured. “I suppose that’s what brought your guilt rushing back.”
“It’s never left,” he muttered. “If only they’d stop selling that book.” His hands fisted at his helplessness. “I feel that there are still people who are losing everything because of me.”
“I guess you could always write another book against those practices.”
“I can’t.” He shook his head then raked his fingers through his hair. “The agreement I signed doesn’t allow me to contradict anything I wrote or reveal myself as the author.”
“It’s in God’s hands, Rick.” Lucy’s quiet voice brimmed with comfort. “Leave it there.”
“I’m trying. Anyway, it’s not me we’re talking about. It’s Noah.” He sighed. “Under that ‘Who cares’ attitude is a simmering cauldron of anger. I promised Cassie I’d help him, but he won’t confide in me. He keeps burying himself in his music.”
“I