Loving Thy Neighbor

Kerri asked.

“Him who?” Quincee teased her daughter. She knew it was natural for a little girl to get a sudden crush on a father figure, but the idea of Judge Hamilton Paxton filling that role for Kerri struck her as hilarious.

Kerri rolled her eyes. “You know, him.”

“Oh, that him. Sure, honey, why not. But after supper, okay?”

Quincee wondered whether he’d be home, but sure enough, the kids said later that he was, and that he’d handed her back a thank-you note.

Why didn’t the blasted man have a Saturday-night date? He was young enough and handsome. And she secretly thought he had the best pair of male eyes in the city….

RUTH SCOFIELD

became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully, her husband applauded her decision.

Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the nineteenth century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to what this new millennium will bring. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.

Loving Thy Neighbor

Ruth Scofield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The second [commandment] is this:

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

There is no greater commandment than this.

—Mark 12:31

A joyful heart is good medicine.

—Proverbs 17:22a

I can do all things through Him

who gives me strength.

(New International Version)

I can do all things through Christ

who strengthens me.

(Scofield Reference Bible)

—Philippians 4:13

To Charles—my own neighborhood boy,

the love of my life.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Letter to Reader

Prologue

She was in deep muck. Just her luck, lately. Getting another citation for a moving violation, which put more points on her driver’s license, came as an impossible complication to her overstretched life just at this time. She hated traffic court. And of all people, now she had to face Judge Hamilton Paxton!

Again.

Those deep eyes of his, his steely gaze had stayed in her memory for days after the last time.

Breathing deeply while she waited, Quincee Davis mentally chanted her motto. I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. I can do all things through Christ….

Traffic court was a three-day headache no matter which way you cut it. She fervently wished she could simply snap her fingers and make this all go away, but there had been nothing she could do to postpone it.

The court clerk called her name, Quincee J. Davis.

Quincee rose to take her place in front of the bench, keeping her hands still by folding them firmly at her waist, and waited, trying to look alert and interested. After what seemed a very long moment, Judge Paxton turned from his court clerk as he silently accepted her folder. Then he turned his cool gaze toward her.

Recognition flashed in those gray depths with all the warmth of an ice shard in January.

“Miss Davis,” he intoned, his voice deeper than the Grand Canyon.

“Yes sir? Er, your honor.”

“You were driving sixty-eight miles in a fifty-five mile zone.”

“Yes, sir, I was, but—”

“And this is your second speeding violation in less than two months.”

“Yes, sir, I know, but you see,” she said, imploring for mercy. “I had an emergency.”

“An emergency? It seems that I recall you had an emergency the last time you faced me, Miss Davis. Something about taking care of children, wasn’t it? Most people arrange their child care without mixing it with constant speeding. You really need to arrange your time better.”

“Sir, it really was an emergency. I couldn’t leave school on time, and I had to pick up my—”

“Yes, I’ve heard it before, Miss Davis,” the judge interrupted with a bored nod. “Would you offer that same excuse for these parking tickets you have stacked up?”

“Um, well, the parking tickets, while not exactly an emergency, were necessary. You see, one time I had to unload a heavy box, and then my sister—”

“You were halfway into a fire zone, Miss Davis. And did you consider the inconvenience you caused the restaurant by leaving your car in their drive for nearly forty minutes, thereby blocking their vehicles from leaving? Or the neighbors in the apartments whose parking space you repeatedly used without prior authorization?”

Quincee shifted from one foot to the other. She hadn’t realized those complaints had caught up with her. Staring at the judge, she noted his well brushed dark hair, flat against his temples. Heavy brows almost met across his brow as he concentrated; his solidly squared chin could hammer with the best of nutcrackers, she thought.

Was it possible to reach a sympathetic soul past those gray depths that were his eyes?

“Your honor, there was a reason for that.” Quincee put a lot of feeling into her explanation, honest feeling. Heaven knew she had enough of it left over from the last three months. “My sister—”

“That’s enough, Miss Davis.” Judge Paxton’s firm tone put an end to her hopes of reaching him on a human level. “I’m sure,” he continued, “you have enough excuses to fill a stadium. But I’ve heard one too many. Your irresponsible actions have become a hazard, and you don’t appear to have improved your attitude toward getting along with your neighbors in regards to considering their rights and needs as important as your own. Perhaps thirty days without your driving privileges will improve your approach.”

Thirty days!

“That’s all, Miss Davis.”

Impossible! Quincee opened her mouth to protest, her heart beating high in her throat. She couldn’t do without her car for thirty days. She had to have the freedom to drive. There was too much to do within the next week, even. She had too many directions to run. Why, she and the kids were moving, for Pete’s sake!

“Judge Paxton, I have children to care for. I can’t do without my car.”

“Then you should think of your children the next time you’re speeding, Miss Davis.”

“But I must—”

Judge Paxton’s glinting expression dared her to make one more protest. He was heartless. She closed her mouth, fighting the flashing anger that wanted to erupt. It was all just too much.

I can do all things through Christ… she began. It had been her hope and promise for the last year. But she didn’t feel very capable at the moment. How could she have allowed herself to get those speeding tickets? What was she to do without her driving license?

The court clerk called the next name on his list. Quincee had no option but to turn and give the clerk all the information he asked for and leave. That or face a contempt of court charge, she supposed.

Judge Paxton had already moved to his next case.

Chapter One

“Quincee…”

The plaintive call came from five-year-old Kerri beyond the opened kitchen door. She and seven-year-old Kyle were in the backyard exploring their new surroundings.

The screen door slammed after Kerri as the child entered the kitchen. “Quincee, you gotta come.”

“What is it, Kerri bear?” High on a stepladder, Quincee wiped out the top cupboard. The ancient, once white cupboards hadn’t been cleaned in a dog’s age, the house sitting empty for the past year after its former occupant had…gone to live elsewhere.

Out of concern for the children, she’d chosen to use that explanation instead of telling them of another death. They were still dealing with the grief of losing their mother.

Quincee had bought the tiny house in this old Independence, Missouri, neighborhood, looking for a measure of security for her and the kids. They’d moved in yesterday. It had cost her every dime of her savings and a borrowed thousand from her friend Laura for closing costs, but it was worth it. Although most of its citizens were older, of grandparenting age, the neighborhood was solid and peaceful.

The house was old, too, built sometime in the early twenties, she thought, and in great need of repair. Too small, really, with only two bedrooms. She and Kerri were sharing. But none of that mattered now. They’d be happy here. She’d see to it.

“That man wants to see you.” Kerri’s tone was edged. Everything was dramatic to Kerri.

“What man?” She stretched to reach the back top corners, scrubbing vigorously. It might take her the whole morning to get the built-up gunk out, but by gum, she’d have it done and their things put away by lunchtime.

“By the hedge,” Kerri said.

Their neighbor, no doubt. The big dusty-blue Victorian on the other side of the hedge, with the long wraparound front porch, had appeared very quiet all last week as she’d come and gone. But most people were home on a Saturday.

“Did he say what he wants?”

“Um, uh, I think Kyle…”

Quincee turned to glance down at her niece. The June sunlight streaming through the door highlighted the moonlight curls around Kerri’s face, framing her delicate, vulnerable features. Kerri’s wide blue eyes shone with worry. Something really troubled her.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Um, Kyle and me picked some cherries in that tree back there.” Kerri pointed to an unseen spot beyond the visible. “We didn’t know we couldn’t.”

“In the neighbor’s yard?”

A slight tremble of Kerri’s bottom lip told Quincee what she needed to know.

Quincee climbed down and tossed her dishcloth into the sudsy sink. If the children had done something wrong, she’d apologize and hope to make a friend. She needed all the friends she could get these days.

“All right, let’s go,” she said calmly. Grabbing a towel to dry her hands, she followed Kerri outside. Whatever this was about, they’d get it straightened out. She planned to build a solid home here, and a good relationship with the neighbors was very much a part of her plan.

Hands shoved into his pockets, Kyle stood against the tall hedge looking fierce. Quincee recognized that look. Kyle always hid his worries and upsets behind a deep frown.

He and Kerri had suffered too many of them this last year.

The ancient privet hedge topped her by half a foot, marking the boundary line between the small property she now owned from the huge yard next door. She surmised it had been planted thirty years before, at least.

Not very tall, Quincee couldn’t see over, but she spotted the back of a man’s dark head. At the hedge’s base, child-size gaps between the old plants positively invited a peek into the world beyond. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine the children crawling through, wanting to explore.

She gave Kyle’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Hello?” she said in her friendliest voice, the one she used to welcome her fifth-grade classroom on a new week of school. “I understand the children have—”

The neighbor turned, his square chin practically sitting on top of the neatly clipped hedge. Quincee stopped speaking abruptly. For the briefest moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Surely, it couldn’t be. But it was.

Although unshaven, his dark hair unruly, the man had cool, unforgettable gray eyes.

“Judge Paxton!” Her voice nearly strangled in her throat.

Her first thought was that he looked much younger than he did in his judge’s robes. Her second thought was that she was in trouble yet again. She nearly groaned aloud. His scowl expressed a decided unhappiness over a situation she was only now beginning to understand might be a major infraction.

And he had no heart.

His straight brows lowered another quarter of an inch, his nod of recognition a reactionary one. “Miss…Fluff…er, Miss…”

Miss Fluff? He thought of her as Miss Fluff?

Had it been her looks, then, with her strawberry-red hair curling around her face like feathers, or that she’d worn a bright lipstick the day she’d gone to court? Or the misfortune of her driving record?

The resentment from that day in court rose in her chest like a flood.

Quincee straightened and stood as tall as her five feet would let her. She may be small of stature, but she wasn’t quite without an authority of her own. Of sorts. At least with children.

She cleared her throat. “Quincee Davis, Judge Paxton.”

“Ah, yes. Quincee Davis.” He blinked before his face melted into a cool demeanor. “Are you by any chance in charge of these children?”

“Yep.” She gathered her forces to answer with in-your-face pride. She would not allow an intimidation of his position to rob her or the children of her protective shield. Whatever they’d done, they were good kids. They didn’t normally get into trouble. “They belong to me. This is Kerri and Kyle.”

“I see. What are you doing here, may I ask?”

“We just moved into this house.”

His jaw tightened as he stared at her in disbelief. “The Denby house?”

“Yes, I bought it. We couldn’t move until school was out. I’m a teacher, you see, and though we closed on the house last month, there were too many things to clear up before we could make the move.”

She prayed he wouldn’t ask her how the move had taken place without her driving here. Or, until she could get around to clearing out the decrepit garage at the rear of the property, who had driven her car, which clearly could be seen parked in the drive.

Hoping to divert that direction of thought, she asked, “Do you live there?”

Actually, she’d been blessed in her move. A number of her teacher friends from school had pitched in to truck hers and the children’s few belongings from the old apartment to the house. Although she’d driven her car, as well, piled high with boxes, they’d done it in one clean sweep.

But she’d counted on running errands this afternoon, and buying groceries. What could she do now? She still had three weeks before regaining her driving privileges.

“Yes,” the judge answered, his gaze riveted on her. “We includes you, the children and…?”

“Just us.” She glanced at Kyle. He hadn’t dealt well with his mother’s death and he wasn’t inclined to use Quincee’s softer explanations of what had happened. But Quincee knew Kerri needed the reassurance of knowing where her mother had gone, and so she’d told them what she honestly believed—that Paula now lived in Heaven.

“Yes, we’re a team. We do just fine on our own.” She finished with a firmness she didn’t always feel.

“Oh?” It sounded like a scoff. One of his pronouncements. His jaw hardened, while the gray eyes continued to study her. She almost shivered in their cool depths as he muttered, “I see.”

There was no help for it, this was going to be a difficult neighbor with which to deal. I can do all things through Him Who strengthens me….

Quincee took a deep breath and plunged. “Um, Judge Paxton, Kerri said something about picking cherries?”

“That’s right. These two were in my cherry tree. I have peach and apple trees, too, in the back corner of my yard. The pie cherries are beginning to ripen. I caught your children eating them right from the tree.”

“Kyle? Kerri?” She turned to look at the children. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“Nobody else was there,” Kyle said, defending himself. “We didn’t know they weren’t our cherries.”

“You must have known, Kyle. They were on my side of the hedge.”

“Didn’t know it was your yard,” Kyle challenged, defiance in the lines of his stance. “We thought they were just there.”

“Well, you were trespassing the moment you crawled through the hedge. You must’ve known that was wrong.”

“What’s that?” Kyle asked, looking to Quincee for an explanation.

“Going onto someone else’s property without being invited,” she said to supply the explanation. Both the children’s jeans-clad knees were streaked with mud, evidence of their having crawled through the gap in the hedge.

The children had known their limits when they lived in the apartment. The parks she and Paula had taken them to had been open ground offering pure freedom to run as wide and satisfyingly hard as they wished. A yard of their own was new to them.

“That’s right.” Judge Paxton pursed his mouth. His steady gaze, not really unkind, Quincee noted with surprise, locked onto the boy’s before engaging Kerri’s. “And you took something that didn’t belong to you. Do either of you think that is right?”

“No, sir.” Shame came with Kyle’s solid answer, but Quincee could tell he didn’t like the embarrassment that came with it. She’d have a quiet talk with him later.

“No, sir.” Kerri’s eyes began to tear, and her lip trembled.

Quincee’s pride in the children rose. She placed her hand on Kerri’s head. They may have behaved without thought, but they didn’t lie about what they’d done. They understood what it was to tell the truth.

For the first time in her sketchy knowledge of the judge, she heard his voice soften. “Now that we have that out of the way, what do you plan to do about it?”

The children’s troubled glances turned her way.

“I’d be glad to pay you for the cherries,” Quincee offered. “If you’ll tell me what they’re worth.”

“It’s Kyle’s and Kerri’s debt, don’t you think?”

“But they’re very young. They didn’t intentionally steal the fruit.”

“They may be young, Miss Davis, but they’re not too young to learn to take responsibility for their actions. As a teacher, I’d think you would agree with that.”

“Oh, normally, I would. I do. I agree completely,” she was quick to say. “But right at this time it seems…”

His expression hardened, as though he were reminding her of her own recent irresponsibility. Easy excuses, he seemed to say, wouldn’t stand with him.

Quincee bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t pour out any of her problems to this man, not a one. This man would see any explanation as simply more excuses.

“Well, the children don’t have any money.” She wouldn’t tell him they’d spent their allowance on pizza last night to celebrate their new home. The only alternative had been peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Again.

“I don’t want their money,” Judge Paxton said firmly.

Lord, “Love thy neighbor” might take a stretch here, Quincee prayed. Want to give me some help?

“All right,” she conceded. “What will it take to, um, satisfy the debt?”

She didn’t like being in debt to anyone. Especially, she was discovering, she didn’t want to owe this man anything. It felt too much like the court sentence that hung over her head.

“An apology will do for a start.”

“Oh. Of course.” She cleared her throat as she felt color creep up her cheeks. She’d been so put off by the fact of who her neighbor was that she’d been remiss in offering the first common decency of an apology. And after she’d thought to be neighborly and smooth away the problem. “Children?”

“I’m sorry.” Kerri spoke barely above a whisper.

“Sorry,” Kyle mumbled.

“And I apologize, as well, Judge Paxton,” Quincee said. “I’ll make sure the children…” She let her voice trail as an idea sparked her thoughts in a new direction. “Um, perhaps the children could work off their debt.”

The judge glanced at the children once more, seeming to consider the matter with as much gravity as he carried to his position on the bench. “That’s a concept. What can they do?”

“Well,” she said, glancing at the open denim collar. A few inches of tanned throat showed her he wasn’t a stranger to the sun. She wondered how many hours he spent puttering in his yard. She’d noted how neat it always appeared.

She let her gaze drop to the ground. Only the toes of grungy sneakers showed in the hedge’s gap. The man couldn’t be all poker straight and formal if he could let himself go enough to enjoy puttering in the yard.

“Perhaps they can help you with your yard chores. Say for the rest of this morning?”

The judge weighed the offer, his dark lashes flickering from her to the children. Then he commanded the children’s attention. “Kyle. Kerri. Do you agree?’

Kerri nodded eagerly, her face brightening, while Kyle, trying hard not to show any enthusiasm for the idea, spoke for them both. “S’pose so. What do we have ta do?”

It dawned on Quincee that Kyle may be in need of a man’s company. He’d been very young when his parents split, and the kids’ dad, Mac Stillman, hadn’t been seen since shortly after Kerri was born.

“I’m pruning rosebushes against my house right now,” the judge said, bringing her thoughts back to the task at hand. “You may gather the clippings for the trash can. After that, I’ll be working in the vegetable garden. You may both help with weeding.”

Before he’d finished speaking, Kerri was crawling through the gap in the hedge. Kyle scrambled to follow.

Quincee didn’t know whether to go with the children or not. They needed to learn this valued lesson, to be sure, but she knew very little about Judge Paxton’s personal life. Hamilton Paxton was still practically a stranger, though her real estate woman had told Quincee that her neighbor in the Victorian beauty next to hers lived alone, but was a very respected citizen. The woman hadn’t mentioned his name.

At the time, who would’ve guessed she’d care?

Paula hadn’t normally let the children go with someone of whom she knew so little. Neither did Quincee. Yet however much she might think him a stuffed shirt, she instinctively trusted the judge.

“You may check on the children at any time, Miss Davis,” the judge said, reading her thoughts. “We’ll be right here in plain sight for you to find.”

Quincee nodded. His unexpected thoughtfulness struck her as unusual; he certainly hadn’t cut her any slack or shown any kindness at court. “Thank you.”

Through the low woody hedge gaps, she saw their feet turn away.

“Come home by lunchtime, kids,” she called after them. “And you must follow Judge Paxton’s instructions, but don’t get in his way.”

“We will, Quincee,” Kerri returned, her voice floating behind her.

“I don’t suppose either of you have any work gloves, do you?” she heard the judge mutter. “We’ll have to see what I can dig up.”

Quincee was left to puzzle over the man’s behavior after giving a great imitation of disliking kids. He certainly didn’t have much respect for her. He thought her a fluff.

Promptly at noon, the kids came through the back door. Kerri carried a brown paper sack. “Look what I have,” she boasted.

“What’s that?” Quincee asked.

“Strawberries.” Kerri opened the sack and showed off her prize. “They came out of his garden. He said he didn’t want any more, he’d had enough. And he let me pick ’em ’cause he showed me how. You only pick just the red ones, see?”