Trusting Him
Brenda Minton

Published by Steeple Hill Books™

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to Doug for always believing I could do this, and for giving me the time and the support. Thank you for letting me dream big. To the kids, for putting up with mac and cheese, digging socks out of the basket and for reminding me (more than once) that it was time to eat.

To my family and friends, for encouraging me, reading for me, and for the critiques that made it all come together. I love you all. Ellen, Keri, Steph, Dawn, Angela, Shirlee, Cheryl, Barbara, Lori, Jill, Karla and Patsy. To the ladies at Crossroads, for love and prayers. You prayed, God heard.

To my agent, Janet Benrey. I can’t say enough about what you mean to me. Thank you for putting up with me, listening to me, and for all of the valuable advice. And did I mention…for putting up with me. Onward and Upward.

And to my editor, Melissa Endlich. You rock!! I’m so glad you were the editor who took the chance on a new author. You’ve taught me so much. You’ve encouraged me. You’ve helped me to believe in myself as a writer. This one is for you.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the living-room windows of the trailer, dispelling the gloom but not the tight feeling of dread in Maggie Simmons’s stomach. She felt it to the very core, twisting and wrenching—a six-year-old ache that had healed but left scars. She didn’t want to be here, not alone, not when shadows drifted into the corners and every noise, even the slightest creak, sounded ominous.

Something scurried across the floor, taking cover under the couch. Maggie shrieked and jumped back, feeling silly afterward. A mouse. Good thing nobody witnessed the little dance she had done when it ran past her.

The new tenant would have to deal with the old tenant, the one who probably lived somewhere inside the used plaid sofa the church had bought for the trailer some years ago, back when the place served as a parsonage for their pastor. The way Maggie saw it, the mouse had squatter’s rights. The trailer had been empty for six months.

She walked to the back bedroom armed with a dust rag, broom and furniture polish.

Michael Carson. The new tenant. She had to stop thinking of him as a tenant renting from the church. He planned on being more than that. She bristled when she thought back on the conversation with Pastor Banks, the one where he had told her that Michael Carson would be attending their church, and that eventually he would like to help with the after-school project.

“What are you snarling about?”

Maggie jerked back from the dresser she was dusting and turned. She didn’t have to guess how her friend, Faith, had found her. Maggie’s grandmother would have told her, and probably would have even asked Faith to check on her.

“I’m not snarling. I’m cleaning. It never makes me happy. And you shouldn’t sneak in and scare a person like that.”

“You’re a clean freak. Of course cleaning makes you happy. You like to send those dust bunnies on the run. I think you’re snarling because your granny has some awesome fried chicken on the stove, and she invited me to eat with the two of you. And you know I can eat more than you.”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m snarling because my best friend is a bottomless pit with a stinkingly fast metabolism.”

“All part of my charm.” Faith grabbed the broom and started to sweep the hallway. “And you’re upset because you are going to have an uninvited guest in your life. He’s suspect, I’m telling you that much. I wouldn’t trust him at all.”

Maggie shook her head and walked away. Faith followed.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust him.” Maggie dusted the ceiling light in the living room, sending dust and cobwebs floating to the floor to be swept up later. She brushed a strand of web off her cheek and blew at the dust floating in front of her face. “I just want the best thing for the after-school program. We’ve managed to get the neighborhood kids off the street. We’re teaching them to care about others, and to have goals.”

Kids could come to the church after school, knowing that someone would be there for them. They were given snacks, homework help and roles in community projects so that they could learn to help others. In the summer she planned boating, hiking and other activities to keep them out of trouble.

Members of the church had even volunteered to mentor and teach the kids different skills that they might not learn at home. One taught sewing, another cooking, one gentleman taught the boys about cars and another taught gardening.

It was about more than going to church. It showed them the importance of fellowship and helping others. They were growing.

Years ago Maggie had been one of these kids, she knew what they needed. She wanted to be the person who was there for them.

Faith walked up behind her, resting her chin on Maggie’s shoulder. “It’ll work out, Mags. I know this is hard for you, letting this guy in—not just into your ministry, but into your life. But even you’ve said that you needed help. Maybe this is God’s—”

“Plan? Yeah, maybe so. Don’t worry, I’m not going to run him off. I’ll give him the chance he deserves.”

“You’re a strong woman, Maggie. You’ll get through this.”

Maggie nodded and walked to the door. She expected to see them driving up at any moment. Pastor Banks had driven the few hours to the state prison in central Missouri to pick up Michael because he had asked his family for one day to get settled before seeing them. It was nearly five o’clock. It wouldn’t be much longer.

“I’ll be back in a sec. I have a cooler of bottled water in my car. I thought maybe you’d need something to drink, and I figured you forgot to bring something.” Faith slid past her and out the front door.

Maggie watched Faith leave. Faith had asked her the same question as Pastor Banks. What bothered her about this? Michael Carson’s past didn’t upset her. Most people had a past. Not everyone had made mistakes as big as his, but hadn’t they all made mistakes?

It wasn’t his past. It was hers that made this so difficult. Her memories of a mother who could never seem to quit using drugs, followed by Maggie’s own years of rebellion, were the real problem. Choices she had made, wrong decisions—those things haunted her. A night that she couldn’t reclaim added to the heap. A dark road, a guy she had trusted, pushing her to go where she hadn’t wanted to go.

She walked away from the door, her heart racing as the memory continued to flash through her mind, an instant replay that had dulled with time but hadn’t faded.

Greg had taken what she hadn’t wanted to give. She had trusted him, even considered that they might have a future together. Their future ended that night, sending her life on a completely different path.

The door to the trailer rattled as it opened. Maggie jumped and turned, Faith’s red head peeked in. She smiled and held up the cooler.

“Relax, it’s just me.”

“I knew that.”

Faith carried the cooler into the kitchen. “Nice place.”

“He doesn’t have to live here.” Maggie took the bottle of water that her friend held out to her. “His parents have a home in River Oaks Estates. On the ninth hole of the golf course, I think.”

“Claws, my friend? That isn’t like you.” Faith opened her bottle of water. “Sit down with me.”

“I need to finish sweeping.”

Faith backed up to the counter and with a hop she was sitting, the bottle of water next to her. “Why clean it for him if you dislike him so much?”

Maggie shrugged. “Because I’m a nice person. And because I don’t dislike him. I don’t know him.”

“You’re too sweet, Mags. And you gotta admire that he would want to live here, and not with his parents.”

“Yes, that’s something to admire.”

“So—” Faith looked down at the bottle of water she had picked up “—so maybe he isn’t another rich guy who takes what he wants without thinking of the consequences. Isn’t that what you’re thinking? You think he’s using his money to get what he wants. He’s out of prison, has a second chance, and now he’s going to walk in here and make it all better by doing a good deed.”

Maggie looked out the window, concentrating on a sparrow that had landed on the railing of the deck. Was Faith right? Maggie sipped from her bottle of water, shrugging as she turned to face her friend.

“Thanks for that, now I really feel like a heel. Yes, maybe that is what I’ve been thinking. I haven’t even met the guy but already I’ve put him in the box with other people who have let me down. I’ll work through it.”

“Money or not, his life isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

“Life rarely is a walk in the park.” Maggie smiled at her friend. “But I guess we both know that, right?”

Faith was a cancer survivor. Maggie had survived her father’s abandonment before her birth, her mother’s death and Greg. They had made a pact a long time ago to not dwell on darker days, but to move forward. But sometimes that was easier said than done. Sometimes life tossed in a few obstacles, just to keep them on their toes.

Maggie wanted to think that Michael Carson was a temporary obstacle. He would get settled, get back on his feet and move on.

“We’re both survivors, Maggie. Which is why, even though it hurts, you’re going to give Michael Carson a chance.”

“Yes, I’m going to give him a chance. Mercy, isn’t that a key ingredient to living our faith?”

“You got it, sweetie. We all need mercy, a little forgiveness and a second, sometimes a third, chance.”

Maggie smiled, the appropriate response. She had received enough mercy, and more than one second chance of her own. But Michael Carson, this faceless entity, in her life and in her ministry?

“Faith, I’m fine. You don’t have to babysit me. It’s been six years. I’m nearly twenty-seven, which makes me a grown-up. I’m not afraid to be here alone.”

“I know, but I want to be here for you.” Faith smiled, her eyes sparkling with humor.

Maggie got it then, and she felt like an idiot for not getting it sooner. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because your curiosity got the best of you. You just want to see him.”

Faith put a hand on her chest, her eyes widening in an overly sincere fashion. “Mags, I can’t believe you think that of me. Honey, I’m hurt.”

“And I’m right.”

“Okay, I admit that idle curiosity might have something to do with my being here. I’m a writer, you know, I do like to study people. And I do care about you.”

“The world is your…” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of the word. “Whatever.”

“Stage?” Faith supplied. “No, not really. I think that would make me an actress.” She hopped down from the counter. “Let’s get some fresh air. This place smells like pine cleaner and bug spray. And I think I just saw a mouse.”

“Yeah, I think he lives under the couch. Let me grab my purse and we can go.”

Faith’s hand on her arm stopped her. Maggie turned, catching the compassionate look in Faith’s green eyes.

“Maggie, remember, he’s not Greg, and he isn’t your dad.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not judging him, Faith. I know all about making mistakes.”

A car engine rumbled to a stop in the driveway. Maggie looked out the window, Faith nudging in right behind her. Pastor Banks got out of the car first. Michael Carson followed, exiting from the passenger side.

Maggie pushed aside the lecturing voice inside her mind, the one that told her she was behaving like a teenager. Faith whistled softly, obviously not getting the same mental lecture.

“You are in big, big trouble, Maggie Simmons.”

Maggie shrugged off the warning as Michael Carson reached into the back of the car and pulled out a battered duffel bag. He turned to stare at the trailer, his stance casual, but his shoulders looking tense beneath a snug, dusky-blue sweater, a white T-shirt showing at the neck. He didn’t pose a threat to her. He looked like other men she knew. His jeans were faded, his brown hair a little too long; he didn’t bother her at all.

He didn’t bother her until he walked through the door, taking up too much space in the narrow room, and slamming headlong into her resolve with hazel eyes that connected directly with hers.

She saw then that Michael Carson wasn’t at all what she had expected, or told herself he would be. He wasn’t a hardened criminal. He didn’t have cold eyes. He had eyes that challenged her to doubt him.

The two women standing in front of him didn’t move. Michael Carson suspected that if he jumped or yelled “boo,” they would probably scream and run. Were they expecting him to do something suspicious, criminal or thuglike? He hoped not.

He had been afraid of this reaction, and thought it would be more the norm than the exception. Being prepared didn’t make it easier to accept.

The smaller of the two women, a blonde with twilight-blue eyes and a complexion that reminded him of summer sunshine, wore a wary look. The redhead, she was more curious than wary. She smiled, managing to look a lot like someone who was up to something. His attention turned back to the blonde.

“Michael Carson, let me introduce you to Maggie Simmons, our youth worker.” Pastor Banks smiled and nodded toward the blonde. “And her incorrigible friend, Faith Lane.” The redhead.

Michael thought the introduction he had learned in his support group might be in order: My name is Michael Carson and I’m a recovering drug addict. Maggie Simmons looked as though she expected that from him. Or less. Definitely not more.

He didn’t want to let her down.

Pushing past sarcasm, he realized that he honestly didn’t want to let her down. But not just her—he didn’t want to let anyone down. Not even himself. And since he’d walked out of prison—his home for the last four years—one thought had been taunting him. He could slip so easily.

Concentrate on something else. Don’t get sucked into doubt. He glanced around the sparsely furnished trailer. It smelled of cleaners and bug spray. The broom leaning against the counter was further proof that someone had been cleaning.

Maggie Simmons had done the cleaning. She wore the evidence on her white T-shirt, smudged with dust. Eyes full of doubt, she watched him as though she didn’t know what he was doing in her life, and yet she’d done this.

“Thank you for cleaning the place up.” He shot her a smile, hoping for something similar from her. “I hadn’t expected that.”

“It always helps to come home to something clean,” Maggie returned, and she even smiled. Her smile was definitely sunshine and hope. Or maybe four years of prison, four years with few feminine contacts, had left him a little fanciful.

He didn’t know what to say. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and stepped farther into the living room.

“It isn’t much, but it’s a start.” She continued to talk, her tone apologetic.

A start. Exactly what he’d thought when Pastor Banks offered to rent him this place. He needed somewhere to get his life in order. This would be easier than in his parents’ home in Springfield, and in their world of constant social activity and polite gossip that would keep him in the gutter.

His mom and dad believed in him. But they were two people, three including his brother, and he needed more than that. He knew he would need the support of the church in Galloway, and the pastor who had been visiting him for almost three years.

Pastor Banks, tall and burly, with a tender heart and a smile that exploded across his face. He believed in everyone, and in the ability of God to redeem and give second chances. He preached mercy, and he meant it.

His ministry had changed Michael’s life.

It had truly changed him. Maggie Simmons looked like she might doubt that. She moved away from him, to a brown bag of groceries on the counter. He watched, wondering what her story was, and knowing instinctively that she had one.

“I bought a few things to get you started.” She flashed a look over her shoulder that didn’t quite become a smile as she took canned items from the bag. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He started to move toward her but stopped. She wasn’t wearing a sign that said, Let’s Be Friends. More like a sign that said, Keep Out. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She opened the refrigerator door and stuck something on the shelf.

Pastor Banks jumped back a step, drawing Michael’s attention from the nervous youth worker. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I think I just saw a mouse.”

Maggie Simmons actually laughed.

Chapter Two

A sliver of light broke through the curtains of the bedroom, waking Michael from what had only recently become a sound sleep. The night had been long and too quiet. No fights had broken out, not one door had slammed and nobody had snored. It had been only him, the occasional bark of a dog and something scurrying inside the wall.

He glanced across the room, squinting to read the clock on the dresser. Barely six. His normal waking time. Disappointed by that, he considered rolling over, covering his head with the pillow and going back to sleep. He had really planned to sleep in, at least until eight. His internal alarm clock hadn’t gotten that memo.

Instead of giving in and going back to sleep, he laid there, relishing freedom. No prison guard would show up and tell him to get busy. He could stay in bed as long as he wanted, in a room with no lock on the door and no bars on the windows.

His own bed. His own home. Nobody here would tell him to get to work. Nobody would tell him to head for chow. And nobody would keep him from messing up.

What if he couldn’t handle freedom?

Get out of bed, do something. He pushed himself to leave the comfort of the mattress that had swallowed him in its softness the night before. Down the narrow paneled hall, to the sunlit kitchen. He paused at the window over the sink and looked out at hay fields across the road.

This place was perfect. He was glad he’d taken Pastor Banks up on the offer to rent from the church. Here he could get his bearings. He wouldn’t have to worry about his parents and how to protect them. He needed this time alone.

For four years he’d had very little time on his own, without someone watching, listening. He had once heard that the Chinese people didn’t have a word for “alone.” There was no concept of the word in their overcrowded country.

In prison there was no concept of the word, either. A person didn’t have use of a word that they couldn’t put into practice. Alone.

But then sometimes, even with hundreds of people around, he had felt alone.

He rummaged through the cabinet, smiling when he pulled out the bag of Starbucks coffee. Miss Maggie Simmons had thought of everything. Bless her sweet soul. He filled the coffeepot with water, added a few scoops of coffee to the filter basket and set the power button.

While he waited for the coffee to brew he walked out the back door to the small deck that faced the woods. Springtime in the Ozarks. The air was cool, but hinted at a warm day, and the emerald-green grass was drenched with dew. Something moved. He watched, holding his breath to see what had darted through the trees. It appeared again, a small doe, ears twitching when she sensed his presence. A few minutes later she darted back into the woods.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeted him when he walked into the trailer. Real coffee, the kind a person wanted to enjoy, not gulp down with a few spoons of sugar added to kill the flavor. He poured a cup and walked back outside. An old lawn chair had been left behind. He sat and propped his feet up on the wood railing of the deck.

Now what? Think of the future, of life working for his dad as a paralegal? Or the past, and how it had changed everything, including where he should be now?

One stupid mistake, trying meth, had led to another mistake—dealing methamphetamines when his dad had cut off his money. He leaned back, closing his eyes when he remembered back to those days. He’d been angry then, mad at his dad for taking away his money, and mad at his brother Noah for telling his parents why he had lost weight and why his grades were failing.

Now he needed to thank them. His dad for taking away his money. His brother for noticing the signs of addiction. He also needed to make amends with the people he had hurt.

Michael’s addiction had changed the course of his brother’s life, as well. Noah had been set to take the bar and would have been a lawyer for their father’s firm. Now he was an agent for the DEA.

Everything had changed.

A car rumbled down the road, coming closer. Michael walked back into the house. He reached the front door as his parents pulled up the drive. They had given him the night he needed to be on his own. He smiled as he glanced down at his watch. His mom was out of the car, carefully walking toward the trailer in high heels that weren’t suited for the rutted, overgrown lawn.

He stepped onto the porch to wait.

“Michael, oh, honey, your hair is too long.” She hurried up the stairs of the porch, her heels beating a rhythm on the wooden steps. She hugged him to her, holding him close. He held her tight.

“I love you, Mom.”

She held him back, gave him a long look and then hugged him again. “Look at him, George. He doesn’t look any worse for wear, does he?”

Michael made eye contact with his dad. Neither of them disagreed with Shelly Carson. They rarely did. And if she felt better thinking that he looked good, therefore he must be good, Michael was happy letting her believe it.

“He looks great, Shel. And it smells like coffee brewing. I could sure use a cup, since you dragged me out of bed before the sun came up.”

“We have a lot to do today. Michael needs to get his driver’s license. He’ll need his car, clothes and a checking account.”

Michael motioned his parents inside, as his mother continued to let them know what she had on her agenda for him. It would have been easy to tell her that he had other plans, things that he needed to do, but not today. He would give her this day.

He could handle it today, having his schedule planned for him. He had handled it for four years, but this time it felt different. This time it was being done by a person who loved him.

“I’d like for you to start work on Monday,” his dad said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Why in the world do you want to live in this place?”

The conversation had been overdue. Michael knew his parents would want answers. Being a lawyer was out of the question. As a felon he could work as a paralegal for his dad’s law office, but he would never be a lawyer. His job and his trust fund would pay the bills. Working at the church filled another need, one his parents wouldn’t understand.

“This place sort of suits me. It’s quiet out here, and this is a good starting place. I can be alone, spend time thinking about the future.” Michael glanced around the sunny yellow kitchen with the avocado-green appliances.

“You could do all of that in town, in a nice apartment,” his mother offered. He loved her optimism, her willingness to just sweep his past under a big rug.

His dad was more of a “this is just a bump in the road” sort of guy.

“I don’t want the noise of an apartment in the city, or the crowds. Maybe later.”

“Well, I do think you should call Katherine. Her mom said she was hurt that you never wrote. Michael, the two of you dated for three years. I think you owe her something.”

Michael’s mouth dropped and an explanation nearly escaped, one that couldn’t escape. His mother didn’t need to know, not yet. Katherine had been there during his meth years and she had been a part of that world. He hadn’t answered her letters and he didn’t plan on letting her in his life now.

His mom wouldn’t understand. She would never understand that—what it meant to be an addict. To stay clean, he needed to stay clear of temptation. The phone rang. Michael shot his parents an apologetic look as he went to answer it.

He hadn’t expected it so soon, but the caller identified himself as a probation officer. Michael would need to set up an appointment, and he would need to get in touch with his sponsor at Narcotics Anonymous.

Reality hit home as he wrote the addresses and numbers on a piece of paper. He had a lot to prove to a lot of people, and he had no intention of letting any of them down. If he let them down, he’d be letting himself down.

Thursday morning the door to Maggie’s office opened as she lifted a cookie to her mouth. She dropped it on the desk and brushed crumbs from her chin as Michael Carson walked in, hesitating just inside the door. He looked unsure, slightly wary and sweet. She hadn’t expected that the tough guy, with the perpetual five o’clock shadow and hazel eyes that challenged, had a sweet side.

“I didn’t expect you so soon.”

He lifted a box of doughnuts and smiled. If he wanted friendship, that was a good first step.

“The receptionist told me where to find you.” He took another step into the room. “I brought doughnuts.”

“That sounds good.”

He offered the gesture, placing the box in front of her on the desk. At close range she could see that his hair was still damp and curled against his collar. The smell of soap and aftershave lingered even after he moved away.

Maggie took a doughnut from the box.

“I wish I could offer you a good cup of coffee to go with them, but Pastor Banks beat me here this morning. His is barely drinkable.”

And then more silence. What did she say after that? She motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He took the offer and sat.

“Have you enjoyed your first few days at home?” She grimaced as the words slipped out. Too bad there wasn’t an etiquette book on right things to say in tough situations. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.”

His gaze connected with hers and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “I survived. And don’t tiptoe around, trying to say the right things. I’m a big boy.”

“Good, because I’m notorious for saying the wrong thing.”

“I’d rather you be honest, Maggie. And if you have questions, I’ll try to answer them.”

“Honesty is always good.”

“Fine, since we agree on that, I’d like to ask you a question.” He dusted powdered sugar off his hands before looking up, his smile having disappeared. “Do you mind having an ex-con here? Do I frighten you?”

Mouthful of doughnut, and total shock—not a good combination.

Did she mind? Was she frightened? She stared at him, trying to find the right answer, an answer that would have told him too much. She had been frightened before. As a child, listening to her mother partying with friends, and on a cool night in September, the night Greg drove her to the lake. Here, in this room with Michael, no, she wasn’t frightened.

His gaze remained unwavering, hazel-green pools in a face with defined features, but that hard edge that said he had lived through something difficult.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Because of his eyes. The mirror of the soul. And his were kind, belying the hardness of his features. “There might be times when I mind that you’re here, but that’s because it took me by surprise that you would want to work here.”

Another half smile. “That’s definitely honest.”

“You said…”

“I meant it. And thank you for the supplies you left behind. That first morning it was nice to wake up and find that you’d thought of the important stuff.”

“The coffee was good?” Coffee, a subject she could deal with.

“Yes, and the toaster pastries.” He looked away and she wondered what else had gone on in the last few days. “How did you guess?”

“About the pastries?” She shrugged and then smiled. “I didn’t. Pastor Banks told me that you had mentioned missing Pop-Tarts. I thought it was a little strange, but hey, who am I to judge?”

“Yes, I guess it was a strange thing, but when you have four years to think about what you really miss, you can think of a lot. I’ve spent the last three days eating at every fast-food joint in town.”

Too much, too soon. Maggie searched for a more neutral topic.

“How is your family?”

“We’ve had a good reunion. Mom even cooked.”

“Sounds like a good homecoming.”

His brows shot up at her comment and he half smiled. Okay, maybe not so great. Maybe he was just giving her the niceties, the details that would keep them on level footing as casual acquaintances. She was good with that.

“I can’t undo what happened.” He glanced toward the window as he made the statement that brought her front and center into his life. “My mom is always going to be afraid that I’ll fall again. Dad is always going to think that life can go right back to the way it was.”

“It might take time.” She knew all about regret. She knew how it felt to live with choices she couldn’t undo. Time would bring healing. Or so the saying went.

It was true, but she didn’t think it would make him feel any better to hear those words now, not yet. He was a grown man and he’d figure it out on his own.

“This morning my mom called. She wanted to know where I’d be today and what I’d be doing. I’m almost twenty-eight years old and I’m still giving an account for every minute of my day.”

“I’m sorry.” Another platitude that wouldn’t do him any good. The words had to mean something, or they were just words. Sorry. She thought it should be a verb, something a person put into action.

Her father had apologized to her mother twenty-seven years ago. He had followed the apology with the words that he didn’t want to be a dad. He had other plans. Sorry.

Her mother had apologized for forgetting school programs, and not picking Maggie up after Girl Scouts. She had apologized the day before she took the overdose that claimed her life.

The police officer had apologized as she’d sat in the back seat of his car on her way to her grandmother’s house. She had been fourteen and his apology hadn’t really made sense.

Greg had apologized when he’d dropped her off at Faith’s dorm the night he’d raped her. She could still see the accusations in his eyes and hear the callousness of his words. I’m sorry, but this is all your fault. You let me think you wanted this.

Michael stood. “I’m going to get a cup of that coffee. Do you need one?”

“No, I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was anything but. Her heart was tugging at her, telling her to be the one to give him a chance. He needed a friend, someone he could count on, and she could be that person.

Or could she?

“Michael, good to see you here.” The booming voice stopped Michael as he walked down the hall, seeking the kitchen.

He turned to face the bear of a man responsible for his being here. Robert Banks had started a prison ministry and from that ministry Michael had found faith, both in God and in himself.

“Pastor Banks, good morning.”

“Did you find Maggie?”

Maggie. Yes, he’d found her. And she was another person in his life whose trust he might never gain. It seemed like there were plenty of those people, and they were all waiting for him to prove himself.

Or were they waiting for him to fail? And he had failed before. In the year before he’d gone to prison he had tried, really tried, to get his life together. He hadn’t wanted to end up like people that he knew, the ones who lost everything to addiction.

“Yes, I found her in her office.”

“Good. She’s the one in charge of youth, and in a month or so, when you’re settled and feel like working, she’ll be the person to show you the ropes. Until then, get to know her, and let her show you what this after-school program is all about. It’s quite a ministry.”

“I’m looking forward to working with her. Dad wants me at least four days a week. I can do the office work and legwork for him as a paralegal. But being here, well, you know how I feel about getting plugged in.”

“That’s the key, Michael, get plugged in. First to church, and then with the youth. You’ll find that having people you can count on will make it easier when you face a struggle.”

A few minutes later Michael returned to Maggie’s closet size office. The cluttered room held a conglomeration of gray metal furniture that looked like hand-me-downs from a government office, or even the prison. He felt at home here.

Maggie stood at the window. He stepped quietly, not wanting to disturb her. When he scooted the chair across the tile floor, she jumped slightly and turned.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t.”

She returned to her chair. The softness of her tone matched the soft look in her eyes. Her hands trembled. He wanted to tell her he understood.

He had a feeling he didn’t understand. To give her space he got up, taking the place she’d vacated near the open window. No bars. He put his hand on the screen.

“You okay?” Her voice caught his attention and drew his gaze from the window to her face. His hand dropped to his side.

“Okay? Why?”

“You sighed.”

“I’m fine. Sometimes I wonder how long it will take to get used to having my life back. I can eat when I want. I can take a shower when I please. It’s more overwhelming than I had expected.” He also hadn’t planned on telling her all of that. Her soft look and the tenderness in her gaze—even if she looked unsure—that had been the lure, the reason for talking.

“You have your life back. That’s a special gift.”

“I do, but I don’t have what I always planned to have at this stage of my life. I don’t have the law degree, or a family of my own. I’ve never had a steady job.”

He had never been in love. He couldn’t share that with the timid blonde who stared up at him with a cup of coffee drawn to her lips and hesitation in her blue eyes.

“I think it will get better.”

“I’m sure it will.” He sat across from her, steadying himself when the gray folding chair started to buckle.

“Are you ready to get started, and to learn about our ministry?”

“I…Of course I am.” What should he say now? Did she require an explanation for his reticence? Or would she understand?

“You can be a little more casual from now on. We don’t normally dress up for this job.”

He hadn’t known, so he had worn slacks and a button-up shirt. It had seemed appropriate, even if it wasn’t really comfortable.

His gaze settled on her pale blue T-shirt and capris. Her honey-blond hair was in a ponytail and a scarf was tied around her neck. Casual, but totally feminine. His throat felt a little dry. Probably from the day-old doughnuts.

“I wasn’t sure about what to wear.” He found himself suddenly unsure about quite a few things. “So, what do we do?”

She rested her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the desk. “We work with troubled teens from this neighborhood, and in the community. We mentor them, counsel them—generally step in for absentee parents. We provide after-school programs, summer activities—whatever it takes to keep them busy and off the streets. If they feel connected here, they’re less likely to go out there looking for something to connect with.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Do you have any questions or concerns?” She fingered one of the manila envelopes on her desk. Slowly her head came up, her gaze connecting with his.

“I can’t think of any.”

“Michael, you don’t have to work here. This isn’t required. You could go back to school, or get a job in Springfield.” The words shot him down, making him wonder just how much she didn’t want him around.

“I have a job. But I want to be here. I want to give back and make up for what I’ve done.”

“You already have. You did your time. Working here isn’t about a job or paying back. This is about having a call.”

“I know that.” Did she think that he didn’t have a clue? “I’m here because I feel like God wants me here. I can help reach kids because of what I’ve been through.”

“I didn’t mean to sound like I don’t want you here. Or like I’m judging you.”

“Maggie, I never expected this to happen. It wasn’t my goal when I was a kid…to end up addicted to drugs. But it did happen, and I am a different person now.”

He brushed a hand through his hair, dismayed that he was the one shaking now.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for a lecture or an impromptu counseling session. It isn’t really my place.” She stood, looking for all the world like she didn’t know what to do with him. Finally she continued. “But if you ever do need to talk, Pastor Banks is always available. And if you need a friend, I’m here.”

“Thank you. And I don’t mind your advice.” But maybe he did. He wanted to be treated like he had something to offer this ministry, not like he needed to be ministered to.

“Okay then, it sounds as if we’re on the same sheet of music. The kids come first. And we’ll do this together, for them.”

She paused, as if she meant to say more, but instead she shrugged and walked away. The empty cup in her hand suggested she might be on her way to the kitchen.

His gaze landed on the side of the gray-green desk. Kids had scratched their names in the rubber edging. Next to one name were the words “Jesus Saves.” Another had carved, “I Hate My Life.”

Funny how two kids in basically the same place could face life with such opposing points of view. He ran his finger over the torn edges of the words. Jesus Saves…I Hate My Life.

Chapter Three

Michael went from work to his brother’s that evening. He smiled when his older brother opened the door and motioned him into his apartment. Noah was the other oddity in the Carson family. Noah, who had a heart of gold and a career that made their mother cringe. His work for the DEA kept him out of touch, sometimes for months at a time. And sometimes even at home he didn’t seem reachable.

Stepping into the small one-bedroom apartment brought another smile to Michael’s face. If an apartment could reflect the personality of the person that lived there, Noah’s apartment did.

The place was practically bare, with a fold-out couch, a recliner that tilted dangerously to the left and a small card table shoved into the corner of the kitchenette. Thrown into the opposite corner was a collection of tattered, falling-apart suitcases.

“Nice place.” Michael wondered if Noah got the same lectures from their mother about living somewhere a little nicer.

“It suits my needs.”

“You need a wife.” Michael pushed aside a stack of newspapers and sat on the couch.

“That’s the last thing I need. What I want is a new case, so I can get back on the road.”

“I’m not sure what the romance is between you and your job. You’re on the road for months at a time. You live in rundown apartments and eat out of tin cans.” Michael had received that information from their mother and from reading between the lines of the letters Noah had sent.

“You know why I do this.” Noah shoved his glasses into his pocket and brushed a hand through hair that hung nearly to his shoulders but was usually pulled back in a ponytail. “So what’s going on?”

Sometimes Noah was the greatest brother in the world. No, he was always the greatest. But sometimes “the job” took over. It bordered on obsession. Noah couldn’t see that maybe Michael just wanted to visit. No, he had to suspect that something was going on.

“Nothing’s going on. Life is great. I’m the family felon. My future career choices are limited. Oh, and I’m being followed.”

“So, when were you going to tell me about this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Michael leaned back and closed his eyes. He wanted life to be simple again. He wanted easy decisions. He wanted to be a kid, deciding which camp to attend or what party—no, not a party—what friends to hang out with.

“Okay, so who do you think it is?” Noah pulled out a chair from the card table and straddled it, his arms resting on the metal frame of the back.

“It’s Vince.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“Not yet, but he will. He isn’t going to forget a debt.”

“With your help we can bring him in. He stayed out of sight after you got busted. I think he left the state. Since he’s been back, he’s been smart about moving his operation and using a lot of different people. His operation is a lot bigger than the average meth lab in a garage or shed.”

“I know.” He searched for the right words. “What I don’t know is if I’m strong enough to fight him, or to go against him. I’ve been clean for four years. But I haven’t really been put to the test.”

“You have to believe in yourself. And you don’t have to fight him. If you get in with him, you can get names, check out who is hanging out with him, and anything else usable.”

Silence settled over the room. The dripping kitchen faucet beat out a steady rhythm in the stainless-steel sink and the tick-tock of the wind-up alarm clock grew louder with each passing second. Michael got up and walked into the kitchen. He searched the two drawers for tools to fix the sink. He found a hammer and considered smashing the clock. That would fix it.

“Michael, if this is too much, then don’t worry about it. They’ll get him.”

“I want to help, but I don’t want to get pulled back in. If I find out who he’s using, I will let you know.” Michael opened the fridge and pulled out a cola. “If I don’t get to the house for dinner, Mom will be calling you to go look for me.”

“I’ll call you in a few days. We’ll get together with the local P.D. and with your parole officer. You need to keep them all in the loop in case he does contact you. No reason to let them believe the wrong thing.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“It’ll all work out.” Noah’s parting words as Michael walked to the door.

Michael turned, sharing a long look with his brother. Did Noah really think that it would all work out? Michael wasn’t as sure. He definitely knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as saying the words.

“I know it will. I’ll be in touch.”

“Why do we need to plant flowers?” Chance, always the most questioning of Maggie’s teens, glanced over his shoulder to make eye contact with her. “I mean, really, Mrs. Ahrens never even comes outside. And I could be doing something else.”

It was Saturday, which was why Maggie had only managed to lasso one kid for the project. She had thought it was such a good idea to plant flowers for an elderly neighbor.

“She looks out her windows, Chance. It would be nice if she had something to look at.” Maggie glanced up and saw the curtain on the front window of the house move. “She’s watching right now.”

Chance looked up and waved. He flashed a brilliant smile, knowing his own charm. If he didn’t learn to control that, she’d have serious problems with him and the girls in the group. It was definitely time for another abstinence class.

“So, when is the druggie going to start being a part of the group?”

Maggie sat back on her heels and pulled off her gardening gloves. “Druggie?”

She couldn’t have heard him right.

“Yeah, the ex-con dealer.”

“Chance, you’re going to have to lose your attitude. I’m not sure why you’re here if everything we do is so absurd to you.”

He shrugged. “I come for the food?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sorry.”

“He isn’t a ‘druggie.’ He’s a guy who made a mistake.”

“Call it what you want.” Chance dug another small hole and carefully tipped a flower from the plastic cup that held it. “You know, I really do like planting flowers.”

“I won’t tell.”

Maggie’s attention was caught by the red sports car that pulled into the driveway. Michael. She sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be easy. Chance and Michael. Oil and water?

“Speak of the—”

She raised a hand to cut the words before Chance could say them. “Don’t even say it.”

Chance laughed as he patted dirt around the flower and then picked up the water can to give it a good start. Maggie watched for a second and then she stood to greet their visitor.

“Michael.”

“Pastor Banks said I would find you here.” He glanced in Chance’s direction, offering the teen a smile that Chance wasn’t keen on accepting. “I was looking for materials on the adult Bible study.”

“Oh, I have an extra copy. Or you can get one from Don. He leads the group.”

“Good. I tried the bookstores, but they’re sold out.”

And for this he needed to hunt her down? Maggie wasn’t buying it.

“Michael, this is Chance. He’s one of our kids.” She hoped her smile would be contagious and Chance would give a little.

He did. He stood and held out a slightly dirty hand for Michael to shake. Michael took it in a hearty grip. So, he wasn’t afraid of dirt.

“Nice to meet you, Chance.”

“Same to you, man.” Chance stood a few inches shorter than Michael. His body was gangly, like most teens, and his blond hair needed to be cut. Or at least that was Maggie’s unasked-for opinion.

“Do you need help with the flowers?” Michael’s attention turned to focus on the box of plants still waiting.

“No, we’re fine, and you aren’t really dressed for this.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty.”

Chance laughed, but Maggie ignored him. “No need. Really. We’re good.”

He stood in front of her for several long seconds before he finally nodded. “I understand. Well, I have somewhere I have to be, anyway.”

“See you Sunday at church?”

He nodded and walked away. Maggie felt like an idiot. He wanted to help. She could have let him. Instead he backed out of the drive and she let him go.

It didn’t bother him. Michael told himself that as he drove away from Galloway, heading south on a paved farm road, toward his place. He didn’t need Maggie Simmons’s approval. She didn’t have to like him. It would help, but it wasn’t a requirement.

What bothered him was that she had made it pretty obvious his help wasn’t needed. He wondered if she planned on continuing that theme when he did start working with the youth.

The whole world needed for him to prove something to them. He had to prove he was clean. He had to prove that he could be depended on. Maggie Simmons seemed to want more than anyone, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was that she wanted.

One thing he thought he knew for sure. She wanted him out of her life. He couldn’t give her that. He had a few things to prove to himself. He could be trusted. He could stay clean.

Maybe it would be better if Maggie reserved some of her determined dislike for him until he had proven those things. He wasn’t really the kind of person she needed to rely on, not when he wasn’t even sure if he could be relied on.

A few miles from his house he changed his mind about going home. He had seen a motorcycle dealer a mile or so before his place. For a few days he had been thinking about buying one. He hit his turn signal and headed in that direction, the windows down, letting the breeze sweep through the car.

Flashing blue lights disrupted his plans. He glanced in his rearview mirror and groaned. A quick glance down at his speedometer and he realized he hadn’t been speeding. As a matter of fact, he was going under the speed limit.

He pulled to the side of the road, hit the hazard lights button and waited. He had his license, registration and insurance card ready. The officer approached, his hand on his gun, looking prepared for anything. Michael rolled down his window.

“Officer.”

“Mr. Carson.”

Michael waited, knowing he didn’t have a prayer if he got upset. He knew the drill and had been prepared for this. That didn’t lessen the sting. Fresh out of the pen, of course he would be watched. And any wrong move could land him in trouble.

“Could you step out of the car, please? Keep your hands up so I can see them.”

Michael pushed the door open and stepped out, hands up, palms out. He had been here before. The difference this time was that he hadn’t done anything wrong. And that did make him mad.

“Could you tell me what I’ve done?”

“Routine traffic check. You swerved a little back there.”

Michael shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Turn around, put your hands on the hood of the car.”

Michael obeyed, but his insides shook. Anger, some pretty self-righteous indignation and a healthy dose of humiliation were doing battle inside of him, and were ready to roll out in one overwhelming emotion.

He flicked his gaze to his right and watched as the officer did a cursory check through the windows of his car. Looking for drugs was Michael’s guess.

“You won’t find anything in there.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for that? Sorry, I’m not in the habit of trusting felons.” The officer came back. “We’re going to do a field sobriety test.”

“Fine.” Michael turned to face the man, who stood several inches shorter than he did. “I’ll do whatever you say. But I’m clean. I’ve been clean for four years.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

Michael laughed at that. “Oh, yes, I did. Do you think drugs don’t get through the doors of a prison?”

“Straight line, heel to toe.”

Michael walked the line.

The steady thumping sound wasn’t familiar. Maggie walked out the back door of the church, trying to figure out what she’d been hearing for the past thirty minutes. For a while she had ignored it, and then she’d thought that maybe Chance had stuck around after they’d finished planting flowers. Now it was starting to grate on her nerves, like the dripping of a leaking faucet.

The red sports car in the parking lot surprised her. Michael Carson. How long had he been here? And why hadn’t he come inside? She walked around the corner of the building and spotted him. He wasn’t alone. That surprised her more than his presence. Chance was with him.

They were playing racquetball off the retaining wall next to the church. Michael would hit, the muscles in his arms tightening and perspiration soaking the back of his shirt. Chance, not so sure of this sport, would come back, making a solid effort.

They were talking. Maggie couldn’t hear them, not from her vantage point. But they seemed to be having a real heart-to-heart. Not wanting to disturb them, she stayed near the building, happy to observe without getting involved. Even if a corner of her heart felt a little envy. Chance wasn’t always the most trusting kid. He didn’t take easily to people outside his social circle. And he wasn’t given to smiles like the one he wore at the moment.

Maybe Chance found it easier to trust than Maggie did. She would like to think so. It would be good if he could connect with a man, someone who could be a role model.

She wasn’t quite prepared to put Michael Carson into that position. Not yet. He needed to show them that he could be that person.

“Hey, look who came out to join us.” Chance waved his racquet. “I told him you were still here.”

Michael nodded. He didn’t smile. That had to be because of her earlier dismissal of his offer to help. She crossed the parking lot to where the two now stood, racquets held loosely at their sides. Michael held the ball, bouncing it lightly in his hand. His gaze came up, connected with hers, making her doubt that it had been a good idea to come out here.

Broad daylight and she didn’t feel safe. Not that she felt in danger. Not really.

Chance cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed. He shot a look at Michael and then back to her. A casual shrug and he handed the racquet he held to Michael.

“I need to go. I, uh, have homework.”

Maggie came out of her daze. “Don’t lie, Chance.”

“I should have homework,” he hedged.

“See you tomorrow.” Tomorrow was Sunday, and church. Chance hadn’t worked up to that, not yet. She didn’t pressure him, just casually asked from time to time.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He darted away, and she knew he wouldn’t be there.

Michael started to move away. Maggie couldn’t let him go, not yet. She had to apologize. He didn’t deserve to have her push him away. She could let him work with her without letting him into her life.

She really had to work on that trust issue. Or so Faith kept telling her. She had to trust herself to make the right choices, and trust the people in her life not to let her down.

“I have some cola in the fridge inside, or bottled water. Do you want one?”

He stopped, turning with eyes widened in surprise. He pointed to himself and smiled. “Are you talking to me?”

“I’m talking to you.”

He held up the racquets and the ball. “Do you play?”

“No, I don’t play.” Well, that came out totally wrong. She managed a tight smile. “Racquetball. I don’t play racquetball.”

“That’s what I thought we were talking about.” He laughed, the sound sort of carefree and delicious, better than coffee with cream.

And just the fact that she had that thought meant that Faith had been a very bad influence on her.

“It’s nice out here.” She nodded toward the picnic table under the shade of a huge oak tree. “We could sit in the shade.”

Not inside, confined in her office. She glanced toward the parking lot where her car was parked and so was his. People could drive by and get the wrong idea.

Michael nodded his understanding. “Not ready to face what people will think if it gets around that we were here together?”

Forget the delicious coffee-and-cream laugh. “That isn’t it at all. I don’t want to give people room to speculate.”

“Ah, speculation. Yeah, I know what you mean. People do like to assume the worst.”

The way his eyes shifted away from her, she thought that there was more to that comment, something he didn’t feel like sharing. Probably the same something that had brought him back here with a racquet.

Speculation. Now she was doing it. Maybe he liked racquetball and didn’t want to go to the club to play. “I’ll get the colas and meet you back here.”

When she walked out of the church carrying a couple cans of soda, he was sitting on top of the picnic table. His long legs, clad in shorts, were stretched out in front of him. She felt a moment of envy, seeing his tan, and guessing that it came easily for him.

He smiled, an easy smile that lifted one side of his mouth and flashed straight white teeth.

“I’m afraid we only have diet.” She handed him a can and he took it.

“It’ll work.”

Maggie stood in front of the bench, not really sure what her next move should be. Her indecision caught his attention and he patted the spot next to him. That left her in a predicament. Sit next to him, or look further jerky and emotionally unstable.

She sat next to him on top of the table. At least she could drink the soda and not concentrate on finding a topic of conversation they would both be comfortable with.

“I like it here in Galloway. It’s quiet and sometimes I forget that Springfield is just a traffic light away.” Michael ended the silence. “And I really like living outside of town.”

“I’ve always lived here.”

“Really? Do you have your own place or do you live with your parents?”

“I live with my grandmother.” And she didn’t want him to ask more than that. She knew he would. A quick glance in his direction and she saw the questions forming. “My mother passed away when I was in my early teens.”

“I see.” But the tone, soft and a little distant, said that he didn’t see. “And your dad?”

She never had an answer for that question. Her dad, not in the real sense of the word, didn’t exist. He didn’t exist, had never wanted to be a part of her life, but yet he did inhabit her mind a lot. She thought of him, wondered about him and sometimes resented him.

“Maggie?”

“Sorry, I got lost in thought. No, I don’t have a dad.” She hated the word illegitimate, so she wouldn’t use it. It made it sound like her life didn’t count. And her life did count.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk.” He leaned back, looking up at the tree that spread like a leafy green umbrella over top of them. “I wanted to talk about something other than myself.”

“That’s understandable. What happened?”

He sat up, his eyes making direct contact with hers. He hadn’t expected that question. She could see it in the widening of his eyes, that she’d taken him by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “You left earlier, but now you’re back, and I think that racquetball game was more than an exercise routine. It looked a lot like a guy trying to clear his mind by pounding the tar out of a poor defenseless ball.”

He smiled and glanced sideways at her.

“I got pulled over.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “The cop did it to mess with me. He checked my car, made me take a sobriety test. And then he let me go with the casual warning that he’d be seeing me around.”

“Nice.” Maggie sat for a minute, sipping on the diet soda and trying to decide what else needed to be said.

“I never expected it to be easy.” Michael sighed. “But I didn’t expect it to be this difficult. I know that I have to prove myself, but I’m not sure if I can ever measure up to what everyone seems to be expecting.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been one of the people pushing you to measure up. That isn’t what I intended.”

“Really?” He hopped down from the table. “So what did you intend to do?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know, Michael. I don’t think I planned on making you feel anything. If it makes you feel better, this is more about me than you.”

“Because you don’t want me here, in your life and in your ministry?”

“Not for the reasons you think.” She gave him that, knowing he needed some kind of explanation. The reasons were too varied to go into detail. She didn’t trust herself to be a good judge of character. She felt territorial and protective of her kids. And she didn’t want to be let down. Multiple choice, with no wrong answers.

“Are you going to share the reasons?”

“No, I’m not.” She stepped down from the table and stood a short distance from him. “I think it’s enough that you know that I’m really trying. And I want you to succeed.”

“That’s something, I guess.” He tossed his soda can into a nearby recycling bin. “See you tomorrow, Maggie.”

She watched him walk away wondering if she could have said more. Of course she could have, she just didn’t know what it would have been.

Chapter Four

Michael left church on Sunday afternoon without being caught by any well-meaning parishioners or Maggie. He needed to get away, to escape the prying eyes that watched with open curiosity. And after the way their conversation had ended yesterday, he didn’t want to talk to Maggie.

What he didn’t need was company. The car parked in his driveway came as a surprise and a letdown. He felt his insides tighten at the thought of company, another person wanting to see how he was doing.

The door of the convertible opened and a man stepped out. Michael pulled up next to the car, finding a smile for Jimmy Grey, a longtime friend, and someone he hadn’t seen in four long years. Jimmy had been one of the few friends who had written letters.

“About time you got home.” Jimmy flashed his big smile. His curly blond hair was cut short, keeping the curls in control to some degree.

“I was at church.”

“Oh, yes, the newly reformed Michael Carson. I like it.” Jimmy’s hand extended. “It looks good on you, man. I guess a little religion never hurt anyone.”

“It sure wouldn’t hurt you.” Michael moved back and leaned against the side of Jimmy’s convertible.

“No, it wouldn’t hurt. So, tell me, how are you and were you ever going to call me?”

Michael fished his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go inside. I’m starving, and I could use a cup of coffee.”

“You’re actually living here?” Jimmy nodded toward the sixty-foot-long, single-wide mobile home with its small front porch and metal siding.

“I like it. I might see if the church will sell it to me. I wouldn’t mind building a house out here someday.”

“Funny, ten years ago I wouldn’t have seen us here with me as the good one.”

Michael laughed, knowing that Jimmy didn’t mean anything by that. If anything, he agreed. Jimmy had always been the rebellious one. Michael, unfortunately, had been the one who’d made the wrong choice. No excuses. He’d messed up. He’d paid. He didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

“I’m glad you came out, even if you weren’t invited.” Michael unlocked the front door and motioned Jimmy inside.

“Good grief, is that a rat?” Jimmy stepped to the side in time for Michael to see the mouse run under the couch.

“Just a mouse, but he’s pretty good company. He doesn’t eat much, he never talks and he doesn’t hog the bathroom.”

Jimmy glanced back, shaking his head. “You’re a strange dude. So, have you seen Katherine?”

It had to come up. “No, and I don’t plan on seeing her. That part of my life is in the past. We were never in love. We were just cohorts, hiding our drug use from our parents. I can’t let myself get pulled back into that codependency.”

“I guess that’s probably true. And she is seriously in trouble. She’s down to about a hundred pounds. Her parents are finally starting to get that she has a problem.”

“My mom still thinks she’s just thin, and I should give her a call.”

“I’m not sure if you should.”

Michael nodded as he pulled lunch meat and cheese out of the fridge. “Do you want mayo or mustard?”

“Neither. Do you have a tomato in there?”

“Do you think this is a restaurant?”

They were sitting on the back deck eating their sandwiches when Michael worked up the courage to do what he had been putting off. He could have said it in a letter. That didn’t seem right.

“Jimmy, I need to apologize to you.”

Jimmy dropped his feet from the railing to the floor of the deck and tossed the last corner of his bread into the yard. “Why do you think you need to apologize to me?”

“It’s time for me to make amends to the people I hurt. When we were roommates in college, I stole quite a bit of money from you. Dad had cut me off. I needed a fix, and I didn’t care who I had to hurt to get it.”

“Shoot, Michael, I knew you did that. I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Yes, but I need to apologize, because I need to start forgiving myself. I probably owe you about five hundred dollars.”

“Forget it.”

“No.” Michael stood and leaned against the deck so that he could face his friend. “I have to do this. Tomorrow I’m going to get the cash and bring it to you.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, why don’t you put the money in the offering plate? I don’t need it and I don’t want it. Don’t soothe your conscience by doing something that I don’t want you to do. I’m not mad, and I’ll only be mad if you try to pay me back.”

“I have to do this.”

“You have to make amends? Yeah, okay, so make amends. Is that why you’re working at the church? Are you making amends to God, too?”

“No, that’s something else. I know that people are going to think that, but it isn’t about making amends. I really feel like this is something I’m supposed to do.”

Jimmy stood, patted Michael on the back and headed for the door. “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t want to think you’re brainwashed.”

“It’s church, Jim, not a cult.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know church has never been my thing.”

“I know it hasn’t. But if it hadn’t been for God, I wouldn’t have survived the last four years. I probably wouldn’t have survived the four years before that, either.”

“Probably not.” Jimmy stopped in the center of the kitchen, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the “God” talk. “I need to go. Dad needs some help with things around the house.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Fine. The Alzheimer’s is in the early stages, so he’s still Dad. I know that will change in the next few years.”

“Jimmy, if you need anything, I’m here.”

He smiled. “You know, Mike, it’s good to hear that. I’ve missed you. Not just for the last four years, but before that. You were gone for a long time.”

Eight years of his life, gone. Four years to meth and four to prison. But it wasn’t just about the lost years. It was more about lost friendships, lost experiences and lost trust. He couldn’t get back what was lost, including those eight years, but he could definitely make the next eight years count.

Or he could mess up. Maybe being aware of that fact would help him to be stronger.

May fifteenth. Only two more weeks of school. Maggie relished the thought, knowing it meant no more homework for the kids or for her. Algebra was so not her thing. Which explained why she had escaped for a few minutes of fresh air while the kids played darts or went out back for a game of basketball.

She absently rubbed the soft ears of the black Labrador sitting next to her. The animal looked up with sad brown eyes. He belonged to one of the neighbors, but he liked the attention and the leftovers the kids gave him.

A flash of red pulled her attention away from the dog and to the intersection a block away. Michael Carson. She hadn’t expected him today. He had stopped by a couple of times a week, slowly introducing himself to the kids and getting to know the routine. He had been distant, sharing little of his new life with her. But on Sunday night the elders had given him permission to become a real part of the team.

Michael stepped out of the car and waved. His boyish grin flashed brightly on his tanned face. Maggie’s gaze traveled down, taking in the T-shirt that stretched across athletic shoulders and the faded jeans that looked worn and comfortable. She pulled on a cloak of detachment that would make it easier to deal with him. The dog pushed against her leg, snarling softly at the new arrival.

“Are you out here waiting for me?” He held his hand out to the dog, who sniffed and then licked, having decided the stranger could be a friend.

Stupid mutt. Who said dogs were a good judge of character?

“No, I wasn’t waiting, just getting fresh air. I hadn’t really expected you today.”

“Yes, well, I had to leave work early, so I thought I might as well swing by here.”

“Had to leave work early?” She grimaced as the question came out. “Sorry, none of my business.”

The lines of his mouth tightened into what wasn’t exactly the carefree smile she had noticed when he’d first stepped out of the car. He sat next to her on the steps. The dog switched sides and nudged into his arm.

“You know, my life is a continuous learning experience, with a lot of lovely surprises thrown in along the way.”

“Really.”

He stroked the dog’s head and in turn the animal licked his hand. “You don’t really want to hear this, do you?”

“I do, but I don’t know how much you want to share.”

“Thanks, because this isn’t something that my parents want to hear. They would like to think that everything is perfect.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I got called in for a random drug test by my probation officer.” He looked up, his eyes connecting with hers, seeking something. Understanding maybe? Or compassion? She breathed in, not sure which response to give.

“Is that standard?”

“Or do they suspect me of something?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, it isn’t your fault. Yes, it is standard. Somehow I pushed it to the back of my mind. But today it happened.”

“How did it go?” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to ask the right question or give the correct response for this.”

“Join the crowd. This isn’t exactly something I planned for my life. And I doubt that you thought you’d be thrown into the role of supporting someone who is going through this.”

“So, we’ll get through it together.” The words slipped out and once again she knew she’d said the wrong thing. But this time for a different reason. She couldn’t be the one getting him through this. She had already tried that. She had been the supporting one, trying to help her mother.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to that. But I appreciate you listening to me.” He stood and reached for her hand to pull her to her feet. “And in case you’re wondering and you’re too polite to ask—I’m clean.”

“I know that.”

“So, let’s go tell the kids the truth about my life.”

She stood and turned to walk up the stairs. On the last step she stopped and waited for him to join her. He hadn’t moved. “Are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready.”

The shuttered look that fell over his expression closed her out. That was fine. She didn’t mind being closed out. It meant she didn’t have to get involved. Of course, it felt as though she was already pretty involved.

“If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. Just a moment of doubt.”

“We all have those.”

“You’re right.” He took the steps two at a time and passed her. When he reached the door he opened it, motioning for her to enter first. “After you.”

End of conversation, just like that. Maggie let it go. She had a group of kids waiting for her. They were her ministry—not Michael.

The kids were behind the church playing basketball. Michael followed Maggie out the back door. As they stepped outside, she turned, offering him a smile that she probably meant to be encouraging. He didn’t feel encouraged. He had dropped by to visit the kids from time to time; he and Chance had connected, but this time it felt different. This was a step forward. This meant really immersing himself in this ministry.

It also meant that he now had to be up front with the kids. They needed to know the truth, the whole truth, before they heard rumors and invented their own stories about his life.

“Hey, guys, let’s all sit down on the picnic tables.” Maggie’s voice grabbed the attention of the kids. The ball dropped to the court, to be picked up by Chance. The huddle of kids climbed on the tables, watching expectantly.

They were looking at him.

Maggie reached behind her, grabbing his hand to pull him forward. “Michael Carson is going to start joining us on a regular basis next week. He’ll be here at least three afternoons a week, and he’ll help us on different weekend activities.”

The enormity of his commitment hit home. Doubts whirled around inside him, calling him a fraud and making him question if he had the ability. What if he let them all down?

“Hi, guys.” He stepped forward. Maggie’s hand dropped from his arm. He hadn’t realized until it was no longer there how much that touch had meant to him. “I guess I’ve met most of you, so today isn’t as much about introductions as it is about getting real.”

Maggie moved from his side. She took a seat at the picnic table, next to one of the girls, and nodded for him to continue. His gaze remained locked with hers.

“Most of you probably know that I’ve been in prison for the past four years.” He grinned and Maggie responded with a smile that settled in her blue eyes. “I guess I can start by saying that I’m an addict. I’m also a Christian. I’ve been clean for four years, and I plan to stay that way.”

The kids remained quiet. There were nine of them today. They were an odd assortment. One girl looked to be fourteen. She had wire-framed glasses and a soft expression. Timid. But she looked happy. Another girl had dyed her hair black, and her gaze seemed to dare him. The boys—most were sweaty teens who wanted to play basketball and chase girls. One boy looked wary and angry with the world.

They wore expressions that ranged from contented to hopeless to lost and angry. From Jesus Saves to I Hate My Life, like the carvings on the desk in Maggie’s office.

He understood those feelings. He had gone from one extreme to the other. Maggie’s encouraging smile brought him back to the present. He smiled down at her, ignoring the array of questions flashing through her eyes.

“If any of you have questions, I’m willing to give you the answers that I can. If I can’t answer, I’ll tell you why. If you don’t have questions today, then maybe tomorrow. Or next week. But I’m always here if you need to talk, if you need anything.”

Always here. He realized the importance of those words. Other people were counting on him. Maggie. She was counting on him, too.

The boy with the lost look shook his head. Michael waited, wondering what he would say, if he would say anything.

“Whatever, man,” the kid whispered. He glared at the table, his jaw muscles clenching.

“Whatever?” Michael took a step forward, stopping when he saw the worried look on Maggie’s face. “What does that mean?”

“It means that adults always say they’re going to ‘be there for you.’ But most of them aren’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Michael was. He was more sorry than he could say that this kid felt that people weren’t there for him. What had happened to create cynicism in someone so young, with so much life ahead of him? “I can’t help what other people have done. But I can tell you that I’m going to be here. And I think that you already know that Maggie is here. She’s always here.”

The kid glanced in Maggie’s direction. He sort of smiled. “Yeah, she’s here.”

Michael didn’t know what that meant, but it frightened him for Maggie’s sake.

The last kid left at six o’clock. Maggie did a final check of the building and walked back to the kitchen where Michael waited for her. She held up her keys.

“Are you ready to go?”

“More than ready. That was more exhausting than I ever imagined. And those guys can really play ball.”

“You’ll get used to it. And don’t forget about Friday night.”

“Friday night?” The puzzled look told her he’d already forgotten.

“Bowling. We try to have a regular activity at least twice a month on Fridays. This Friday is bowling, and I thought you might like to go. Look, if you have something else to do…”

“No, I’ll be here.”

She shrugged and he followed her out the back door. His cell phone rang as she was locking up. As hard as she tried to ignore him, his conversation carried.

“I don’t think I can see you. But if you need help, I’m here.” He looked away, his brow furrowing. “No, I don’t think so. Katherine, it isn’t too late.”

Maggie walked on to her car.

“Wait.” Michael jogged up to her as she was digging through her purse, looking for her keys. “Sorry, I had to take that call. It was an old friend. One that I can’t help.”

“You don’t have to explain to me.”

“I wasn’t explaining, I was just talking. I grew up with Katherine. Now she’s in a place where I don’t know how to help her.” He looked away, but when he turned, his smile was back in place. “Are you going home, or do you want to grab something to eat?”

“I’m going home. I have to help my grandmother with the yard.”

“I see. Yes, I guess I should head home, too. I keep forgetting that I have a lawn to mow.”

“See you Friday, then.” She reached for her door handle, but his hand shot out, circling her wrist. When she glanced over her shoulder, his hand dropped to his side. “What?”

“Maggie, the boy with the glasses, the one who doesn’t think he can count on anyone. Be careful of him, okay?”

“What?”

“Be careful. I don’t know, maybe I’m just being overly cautious.”

“You are. And don’t worry, I am careful.” She opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “Friday, Michael. Don’t forget.”

He was still standing in the parking lot when she pulled onto the street. His cell phone was to his ear. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was talking to and if he was falling back into old habits.

“Vince called again.” Michael opened the front door for his brother. It was Thursday and he’d just had his second meeting with his probation officer. That should have been enough stress for one day. If only that could be the end of it. “I’m not sure if I can take this.”

“You have to decide.” Noah pulled off his black-framed glasses and slipped them into the collar of his shirt. “Nobody is going to force you. If you want to call Officer Conway and talk to him, do. If you don’t, then hang up when Vince calls. Get your number switched to unlisted.”

All good points. Michael tossed a crumb of bread into the corner of the room and avoided Noah’s questioning look. “It’s for the mouse.”

“I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“Probably not.”

“Why don’t you get a dog? Normal people have dogs.”

“The mouse doesn’t eat as much.”

Noah walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tea. “Michael, make a decision.”

“I have an NA meeting tonight.” Michael had survived the kids. Narcotics Anonymous, his first meeting, sounded simple after a dozen or so teenagers.

“Michael, you can’t discuss this at NA.”

“I know that.” He brushed a hand across his face. When he looked up, Noah was at the door. He never stayed for long. “I think I can do it. The next time Vince calls, I’ll talk to him. He says I owe him money. He’s trying to use that on me.”

“So let him. Use it as a way to get in. As an informant, the police want one thing from you. They want names. You’re the only one who can decide what you want to do about this.”

“What I want to do?” He sat in the sideways-tilting recliner. “I want to move past this. I want for this to not be my life.”

For a minute Noah’s expression softened. “I know. Remember, someday this will be the past. Right now you have to concentrate on what has to be done. Get it over with so that you can move on. Make the move into Vince’s life, Michael.”

Noah made it sound so easy, like something that people did on a daily basis. But who really went out of their way to make a deal with the devil?

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