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  “It’s myself I won’t forgive,” she said, “if I make you lose the second most significant job of your career.”

  His eyebrows drew together in troubled surprise. “You haven’t been responsible for either one,” he said.

  His eyes were eloquent with his own emotion but cloaked with a sadness that went much deeper than the losses he had faced. It hinted at the losses still to come.

  With all her spirit, Brooke wished she could hold that sadness at bay.

  For a moment, as he gazed into her eyes, she thought he was going to kiss her.

  And then he drew back, got up, and pulled her to her feet. “Guess you should go.”

  She swallowed, trying to steady her breath. “Okay,” she whispered, puzzled. Had she done something wrong?

  She drew in a deep, cleansing breath but found that it did nothing to banish the cluttered, clashing emotions within her. She started to stack some of the sketches, but he reached out and stopped her hand.

  “But I was just—”

  “I’ll get them later,” he said. “I’ll bring them to St. Mary’s tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She looked up at him with hurt, bewildered eyes. “I’ll see you then.”

  She felt him watching her as she gathered her purse and her case, and started toward the door.

  “Eight o’clock?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said weakly.

  He took a few steps to follow her to the door, but when Brooke glanced back, he stopped. “Try and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be rough.”

  She lifted her brows and offered a self-conscious smile that told him sleeping would be the last thing she’d do tonight. “I’ll try.”

  He followed a few steps behind her to her car, watching her get in and dig nervously through her purse for her keys. When she found them, she gazed down at them for a moment, as if struggling with a question she couldn’t make herself ask.

  He spoke first.

  “Hey, Brooke?”

  She looked up at Nick, his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes as vulnerable and gentle as she had ever seen them. “Uh-huh?”

  “The things we’re putting in the windows…I believe them with my whole heart. I almost kissed you in there. But alone in my house…I didn’t trust myself.” He stepped toward her, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. “God treasures you, Brooke. That’s why He stopped me.”

  She felt her eyes filling with mist, and she smiled up at him as relief and gratitude played symphonies in her heart. He wasn’t turning her away. He was just living his faith. “Thank you, Nick,” she whispered.

  As she pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, she saw him standing alone in his yard, watching her leave. Something warm burst in her heart, and she realized that she was important to someone. She was valuable to someone. Someone saw worth in her.

  And so did Nick Marcello.

  CHAPTER

  THE CHURCH BUSINESS MEETING THE following night was once again held in the large conference room at City Hall. It was open to the public, and as Nick sat next to Brooke at the front of the room watching the people filing in, he wondered why the telephone lines in Hayden hadn’t overloaded during the past week. Some of those who came hadn’t been to church in years. They couldn’t be less interested in stained-glass windows; that wasn’t what they’d come to see. He watched their eyes sweep over the room and settle anxiously on himself and Brooke. What they really wanted was to be firsthand witnesses to any smutty little allegations he and Brooke faced, so that they could light up the telephone lines again.

  He recognized some of the students he’d taught in school, Brooke’s classmates, all gawking at her as if she were some legend they were finally getting a glimpse of after all these years. Others were his own ex-classmates or active grapevine contributors who wouldn’t have missed tonight if they’d had two broken legs. Some, like Brooke’s family and his own, were conspicuously absent. Nick leaned toward Brooke, who sat next to him, rigid and expressionless. “Do you believe this?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Best entertainment the town’s seen all year.”

  “All decade,” he muttered.

  She shook her head and looked down at her hands, and he saw the threat of tears in her eyes. “Only this time they get to see exhibits one and two firsthand,” she said quietly. “Last time they only enjoyed the dirt in print.”

  Nick wanted to reach for her hand and reassure her somehow, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that if he did, cameras would begin flashing around the room and they’d be the headline story in tomorrow’s news. The pastor, who looked as irritated as they, leaned over to Nick. “With all these inactive members here, I ought to preach a sermon. It’s a shame to waste the opportunity.”

  Nick laughed. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

  The pastor only chuckled and got to his feet. “Could we have some order here?” he asked. “We have a lot of business to take care of tonight, and I’d like to get started.”

  It took a good ten minutes for the crowd to quiet, but when it did, he stood looking wearily across the crowd. “I dare say this is the biggest turnout I’ve ever had for a business meeting,” he said. “And some of you haven’t sat in my congregation in years. Maybe we need to have business meetings more often.”

  The regular church members chuckled, but the gawkers didn’t find it particularly amusing.

  “I’d like to remind you folks,” he went on, “that our intention here tonight is to listen to the presentation Mr. Marcello and Miss Martin have prepared concerning the stained-glass windows in the church, and then to either continue with or withdraw their commission.” He slipped his thumbs through the suspenders tucked under his coat and turned meaningfully to Abby Hemphill. “This is not about personal accusations or gossip. So I’d appreciate it if no one would waste our time with that stuff tonight.”

  A murmur of disappointment undulated through the crowd.

  “If any of you would like to leave now that you’ve heard that, it won’t hurt our feelings,” Horace went on.

  No one left.

  “Well, I guess that means these folks are serious about stained glass. So Nick, Brooke, the floor is yours.”

  Nick and Brooke stood up, and Sonny, from across the room, stepped forward as well to assist them in setting up the first group of panel sketches they intended to explain. A round of whispers and mumbles were heard as they spread the drawings across the five easels they had set side by side in the room. When he finished, Nick ventured a glance at Brooke.

  Her cheeks were flushed in sunburn pink, and he knew she struggled with all her courage to keep from letting the stares and whispers daunt her. He should have done this alone. He should have insisted that she stay home and let him make the presentation without her.

  She finished arranging the panels on her end and looked up at him. Their eyes met. The apprehension on her face, the strain, made him want to comfort her. Instead he began the speech he had prepared for this night, hoping the church would defer its judgment and give them what they needed to go on.

  Brooke’s nerves calmed a bit as Nick read several passages from the Bible and explained the covenant theme to the members and spectators, and she found herself getting lost, yet again, in the passion in his voice as he explained the concept of each group of panels. He spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the cross, and finally it occurred to her that he was addressing those like her, who hadn’t been raised in church. She glanced over the faces in the crowd. They were no longer gaping at her, for their interest had shifted completely to Nick’s words.

  It was as if he had planned his presentation to reach non-believers instead of just to persuade the church about the windows. And he was persuasive. With just the excitement in his voice and the zest in his eyes and the gestures of his hands he captured their imaginations and shown them the beauty that went beyond what she and Nick had done on paper. Brooke found herself listening with rapt attention as he moved from the Gospe
l to explain the process of creating the stained glass and the dimensions that couldn’t be seen here. And with a few simple words, he made them imagine the colors as they might be, with the sun filtering through. He explained how the covenant themes all tied together, how they were designed to serve as visual parables that would reach into people’s hearts and turn them to the Bible and ultimately to Christ.

  When Nick’s presentation ended, a hush fell over the room, undisturbed for a moment as the audience absorbed what he’d said. “We’d be happy to answer any questions anyone might have,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

  A thousand questions arose in Brooke’s mind as her own hunger for understanding stirred to life. She would search for the answers later, she thought.

  Hands went up throughout the audience, and Horace recognized one man by name. The man wiped tears from his face as he said, “This project must be anointed, Nick. I can just feel the Holy Spirit’s part in this.” Others agreed with a smattering of applause.

  “How many people will you have to hire to help you with this?” a questioner asked.

  “Quite a few if we’re to stay on schedule and have the windows finished on time,” he said. “We plan to subcontract experienced people to help cut and lead the glass, as well as some inexperienced help, part-time workers like teenagers, to help with some of the less intricate things. And then, of course, we’ll have to have someone to install the panels, which should be included in the cost of the construction rather than our art budget.”

  Abby Hemphill slapped her hands theatrically on the table and bolted out of her seat. “I’ve sat here and listened to this nonsense long enough!” she blurted out. “We cannot spend our tithes and offerings to fill our church windows with gruesome, violent scenes that will frighten our children.”

  Nick spun around. “Frighten the children? Abby, if you see anything frightening here, would you please point it out to me?”

  “Knives and fire and blood!” Abby said, coming around the table and waving a finger at one of the panels still displayed. “Take that one, for example!”

  Brooke sprang up, ready to defend the panel. But Nick spoke first. “Abraham sacrificing Isaac?” he asked. “Abby, if it leads someone to the Bible to find out what it’s about, they’ll see that Abraham didn’t have to go through with it. The next panel shows the ram God provided. You can’t do the covenant theme without including Abraham and Isaac.”

  Abby Hemphill went to the series in question and jerked one of the pictures off the easel, waving it as if the audience hadn’t seen it closely enough before. Fury constricted Brooke’s throat, stopping her breath, as she saw that it was the one of Christ’s nail-scarred hands. “Do you people really want this on windows where children can see them?” Abby asked. “Christianity already has enough of a PR problem without all of this blood imagery everywhere.”

  “Without blood there is no remission of sin,” Nick threw back. “There’s no point in pouring hundreds of thousands of dollars into restoring that building, and all the sweat and money that will go into those windows, if we plan to dilute the message until it won’t offend anyone. Those who understand why Christ came understand that the blood is what cleanses us. We’re supposed to have the truth at church, Abby, not some benign, politically correct gospel. And you know what? Christ had a PR problem. If it was okay with Him, it’s okay with me.” He turned away from Abby and faced the members of the audience. “This is a choice all of you have to make. You can listen to her and have a bunch of flowers and birds on the windows, or you can allow me to create something that will lead people to Christ and point them back to the Bible.”

  “We’re supposed to attract people, not drive them away, Mr. Marcello.”

  “Is that right?” he asked. “Funny, but I thought your hobby was driving people away.”

  Brooke moaned inwardly as she saw the look of rabid loathing on Abby’s face.

  The woman’s lips compressed in fury. “How dare you?” she hissed. She looked frantically around her. “You people can’t really think that this man is the right one for the job. Horace, I move that we find someone else to oversee these windows and get Nick Marcello and Brooke Martin off this project! Our contract with him has a clause that says we can fire him if there is reason. Well, there is certainly reason.”

  Nick flopped back into his seat, his lips tight and nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. Brooke sat beside him, sensing the anger, the tension in every inch of his body. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his thighs, and covered his face.

  “For the record,” Horace said, “I agree with Nick. We’re all sinners, and the wages of our sin is death. If Christ hadn’t taken our punishment for us, we’d all deserve to hang on that cross. I don’t want to spend the Lord’s money on anything that skirts around the truth of Christ. I want to use that money for a bold message that can change lives.”

  More applause sounded around the room, and Nick looked up, surprised.

  “People don’t convert to Christianity because of stained-glass windows,” Abby Hemphill spouted.

  “They can if the Holy Spirit is working,” Horace said. “If the Holy Spirit has a mind to win souls, He can do it through the windows or in the parking lot or even in the bathrooms. And I believe He’s working here. I sense the Holy Spirit in these plans, and I for one don’t plan to squelch it. Any more discussion?” Horace asked. Then, without allowing much time for response, he clapped his hands together. “All right, then, let’s vote.”

  As the church members voted, it became apparent that the decision was pretty evenly divided. Brooke’s anxiety grew. But when the voting was done, there were a few more votes in favor of the windows than there were against them.

  “Then let the record show that we voted—again—” Horace emphasized the word with vexation, “to allow Nick Marcello and

  Brooke Martin to continue to design and create the stained-glass windows for the church.”

  With a final bang of his gavel, the meeting was adjourned. An eruption of voices suddenly filled the room, and Nick lowered his face into his hands.

  Brooke set her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him. “Nick, it’s okay. We won.”

  “Just barely. Not exactly with overwhelming support.” He looked up at her, self-deprecation evident in every line of his face.

  Sonny zigzagged through the crowd and leaned over to slap his uncle on the back. “Hey, Picasso, you really did good.”

  Nick covered his face again.

  Sonny’s grin faded. “Hey, you’re not upset, are you? I mean, you won. It’s a go.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick said. He stood up and started to gather the drawings. “Let’s just get our stuff and get out of here.”

  Across the room Brooke saw Abby Hemphill in a corner, surrounded by her cronies, babbling with nonstop fury. She was cooking something up already, he knew. She wasn’t going to let this go easily.

  “Congratulations,” the pastor said from behind them.

  Nick turned around and shook Horace’s hand. “Thanks, Horace,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your support.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Horace said, his gruff voice taking the edge off the victory. “Just between you and me, I’m concerned that Abby will try to reverse things on the budget end. Abby can be pretty vindictive when she wants to be.”

  “Tell me about it,” Nick said, his eyes straying to the angry woman again.

  “Horace,” Brooke asked, keeping her voice too quiet for anyone to hear, “do you really think she can change the budget? I mean, can’t she be outvoted?”

  “Of course,” Horace said, “and that’s exactly what I hope will happen. But you never know about these things. It depends on which way the wind blows and how loud that woman yells. And when she starts threatening to withdraw her family’s financial support of the church—well, some members of our finance committee depend more on that than on God.”

  He left them alone to speak to some of the other coun
cil members, and Brooke and Nick only stood staring at each other. “This is a nightmare,” she whispered. “I thought it would be over tonight one way or another, but here we are, no better off.”

  Sonny shrugged, not entirely clear what the dismal mood was

  about. “Sure, you’re better off. At least we can go ahead with our

  work…finish the cartoons At least some of the church mem

  bers see that this gig is worthwhile.”

  Brooke scanned the faces in the crowd; some of the audience lingered with interest near the panels displayed on the easels. They did like them. But others were engaged in angry conversation, and still others snickered, throwing amused glances her way.

  She turned back to Nick and saw that he still barely contained his rage as he stacked the drawings and dismantled the easels. She didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. “Nick…”

  “Miss Martin?”

  She turned and saw a woman at the side door.

  “Miss Martin, you have a telephone call. Your sister. She says it’s important.”

  “All right.” Reluctantly, Brooke started for the door. But before she left the room, she looked back and saw Nick staring down at the sketches, shoulders slumped.

  CHAPTER

  THE MAYOR’S OFFICE WAS ONLY partially lighted, and the secretary, who apparently was also a church member, said over her shoulder, “I just stopped in to drop off my notes after the meeting, and the phone was ringing. I almost didn’t answer. Good thing I did. She said it was important.” The woman pointed toward the telephone, and Brooke snatched it up. “Roxy?”

  “Thank heaven they caught you!” Roxy was barely audible over the line, but Brooke could still hear the quaver in her voice. “I was afraid no one would answer the phone.”

  “Roxy, what’s wrong?”

  Roxy dragged in a shaky breath, and Brooke could tell that she was crying. “I need your help,” she said. “I’m sort of…stranded.”

  “Stranded? Where?”

  Roxy cleared her throat. “You know that bar across the street from the Blue jay Inn? The After Hours?”