Jolie didn’t much like to wear makeup herself and considered that it would have been a crime to cover up Nicole’s flawless ivory complexion. Nicole was really very striking, Jolie decided, despite the slender, fraying cropped jeans that she wore with clashing stripes.
Her oversize, rainbow-hued sweater was striped vertically in wide bands of vivid color, but the black-and-white stripes of the turtleneck that she wore beneath it ran horizontally, while her socks sported a diagonal pattern of yellow-and-orange bands.
It was enough to make an innocent observer dizzy.
Jolie cleared her throat and concentrated on Nicole’s pretty eyes. They were almost leonine in their shape and size, and the slight tilt at the outer edges gave her an exotic air. It was the frankness in those warm brown eyes that most appealed to Jolie, however. They seemed to speak volumes, and one thing came through loud and clear.
This girl was worried about her brother.
“I could do it,” Jolie said impulsively.
“Oh, Jo,” Connie put in quickly, “you don’t need to go out.” She turned to Nicole. “I’ll do it. Just tell me where his school is, and I’ll drive by on my way home, pick him up and drop him off at your house.”
Nicole made a face. “Actually, I don’t want him dropped off. I—I was hoping Ovida would take him home with her until I get off work. I mean, he’s thirteen, he hardly needs babysitting, but…well, he spends a lot of time alone.”
Jolie looked at Connie and saw the same conclusion in her gaze. Nicole didn’t want her brother to go home because their father was drinking.
“Do you think,” Nicole began hesitantly, “that your brother, Marcus, might…?”
“That’s brilliant!” Jolie exclaimed. “Why don’t we give him a call?”
Nicole lifted a shoulder, already backing away. “Maybe I’ll just drop by the church on my way to work.”
“Oh.” Again Jolie traded glances with her sister, her instincts perking up. “That’ll work. And if for some reason he can’t help you, just ask him to give one of us a call.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Nicole said, practically out of the room.
Jolie followed, trying to see her unexpected guest out. She barely got to the entry hall before Nicole opened the front door. “Thanks again. Everyone in your family is so nice.”
“Think nothing…” The door closed before she could get the rest of it out. Jolie folded her arms consideringly before turning back toward the kitchen.
“She was certainly in a hurry,” she told Connie as she reentered the room.
“Guess she had to get to work.”
“Somehow I think it’s more than that,” Jolie said, sending her sister a droll look.
Connie set down her cup and folded her arms against the table. “I thought she seemed a little taken with him the other day. Not that he would notice.”
“True.” Sighing, Jolie lowered herself into her chair. “That’s a big part of the problem, you know. He’s just oblivious.”
Connie shrugged. “Well, maybe a minister has to be.”
“Maybe. On the other hand, how does he ever expect to find anyone if he doesn’t at least open himself up to the possibility?”
Connie smiled. “Oh, the same way we did, maybe.”
Jolie burst out laughing. “In other words, God will have to drop her on his head.”
“Something like that.” Connie grinned.
What neither of them said aloud was that Nicole Archer couldn’t possibly be the one. Indeed, it went without saying. Just as well then, that Marcus would probably never even realize that quirky little Nicole was developing a crush on him.
“I don’t get home until almost ten. The restaurant closes at nine on Fridays, but we have to clear out the electronic till and help clean up before we go.”
“No problem,” Marcus told her.
They’d met on the sidewalk in the midst of the church compound. He’d pulled in just ahead of her, having returned from the office supply store. His heart had leaped when her little jalopy had nosed into the space beside his dependable, late-model sedan and again when she’d clambered out to smile at him, costumed in the most outrageous stripes he’d ever seen. He could hardly look at her—and couldn’t look away.
Nicole gusted a huge sigh of relief and turned those big, tilted eyes up at him. “Thank you so much. It’s a huge weight off my shoulders. We need the extra money, you know, but right now Beau can’t be home with…out me,” she finished weakly.
It was cold out, but Marcus set the bag of office supplies on the hood of his sedan and leaned a hip against the fender, crossing his arms. “Have you given any more thought to what I said about calling the authorities?”
She shook her head. “It’s just not an option.”
“Nicole, it’s not going to get better until he’s faced with reality.”
“Look,” she said, skipping closer. “I’m less than two semesters away from graduation. Then Beau and I can afford to take off on our own.”
“Just like that?”
“No, not…I mean, we’re making real plans.”
Marcus didn’t have the heart to point out that their father might have a good deal more to say about that than either of them realized.
“Well, we can talk about this later. You just go on to work and leave Beau to me,” Marcus told her. “Which school is it?”
Nicole told him the name of the middle school where Beau was an eighth grader and launched into directions. “You go out here and turn right.” She pointed toward the street. “Then it’s the third light—”
“I know it well,” Marcus interrupted. “Several of our youngsters attend there, and some of our adult members are on the staff.”
She clapped her gloved hands together. “Great! I’ll call from work and let them know you’ll be picking him up.”
“Just have him wait in the office.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind entertaining him for the evening?”
“Not at all.”
She dug a toe into a crack in the pavement. “I thought maybe you had other plans or something.”
“None. I’m looking forward to the company.” He leaned toward her, aware that it wasn’t a gesture he normally employed and a little puzzled by the urge to do so now. “Gives me a good excuse to play video games.” She laughed, and the sound made him smile.
“As if any guy needs an excuse to play video games.”
“Hey, you reach a certain age,” he said with a helpless shrug.
“Puh-leeze.” Reaching out, she gave his shoulder a little shove. “You’re not exactly a grandfather.”
His first impulse was to playfully shove back, but he kept his arms tightly folded, surprised by the discipline required to do so. “I’m not exactly a kid, either.”
“Not exactly.”
She didn’t sound as if that was a bad thing. He didn’t want to think about why. Instead, he reminded himself what his purpose was.
“I