Noah spent the next week door-knocking in the more rural areas of Virgin River, introducing himself and inviting people to a church that would be refurbished and open for business in a couple of months. He’d also been to Valley Hospital twice. He was now known among the volunteer women and before he even asked, he was directed to a patient who had had no visitors. While he carried a Bible and introduced himself as Reverend Noah Kincaid, he wasn’t there to pray or preach unless asked. All he did was visit. He sympathized, comforted, consoled. He also laughed, shared favorite jokes, straightened linens, fluffed pillows and even gave assistance to the bathroom.
Merry had died at home, in his care. During her brief illness and chemotherapy he’d spent countless hours at the hospital. While she was reading or dozing as the chemo IV or transfusion was running, he’d make the rounds and visit with staff, patients and gathering families. He hadn’t even realized he’d found a mission there. But people welcomed his friendliness and it filled a place in him. It fulfilled him.
On his way back to Virgin River, he visited the nursing home where Salvatore Salentino was living. When he stood in the doorway, the old man said, “Well, here you are again. I guess you won’t give up till you convert me.”
Meanwhile, Ellie and Lucy were making progress on the cleaning and painting. Ellie had finished two bathrooms and was getting to work on the kitchen. And Lucy, for all her infirmity, was getting up and down the steps like a pup…and following Ellie everywhere.
On this particular day, Noah made it back to the church a little before three because he had an appointment with Paul Haggerty. He heard the water running downstairs and found Ellie bent over the sink, cleaning her painting gear. “I’m back, Ellie,” he announced.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Boy, you have a ton of messages. The phone was ringing all day. It’s a shock I got anything done around here. Why’s that phone ringing all of a sudden? You run an ad for some kind of soul-saving special or something?”
“Messages?” he asked with trepidation.
“Yeah. I wrote ’em down and left ’em on the desk.”
“You answered the phone?”
“What did you expect me to do? Let them all think there wasn’t any minister in this town? Besides,” she said, turning around to face him, “I’m supposed to assist. Right?”
He swallowed. “Um. I have a meeting with Paul Haggerty, the builder. Off the top of your head, do you remember any—”
“Well, a woman named Shelby MacIntyre wondered if you could perform a wedding in a couple of months. She’s hoping there will be a church by then. Gloria Tuttle called from Valley Hospital. She’s seen you around there visiting people and thought you should call her—she’s one of the nurses and can tell you about patients who might want you to visit them. You’re gonna wanna watch Gloria, Rev—she wants to jump your bones. She asked if you were married and when I said no, she giggled. Some old woman named Hope, who sounds like a man, called and asked how things were going and I told her we were doing our best.” Then she grinned. “And there were others. A lot of ’em just want to call back. And there were hang-ups—maybe you got a number that was used too recently. Do you usually get so many calls? I can’t remember the phone ringing once last week.”
“What did you say?” he asked.
“To who?”
“Whom,” he said, and then he almost kicked himself. “To Miss MacIntyre, for example.”
She studied his face for a second and then, with a hand on her hip, she said, “I said, ‘You’re damn skippy he’ll do a wedding—he needs the work!’ What do you think I said? I took her number and told her I’d have you call her back. The same to all of them. Except the nurse—I told her she was scraping the bottom of the barrel, going after your hot pants.” Then she smirked.
“You’re a pain in the butt,” he said.
“Yeah, so says the pot to the kettle. You thought I wasn’t smart enough to know how to answer an office phone. I’ve worked in offices!”
“I know this,” he informed her.
“Ah, you thought I got those jobs because I have—”
He put up a hand to stop her. “I never thought a thing,” he said.
“Boobs,” she finished insolently. Then she winked while she chewed vigorously on some gum. She cracked it for good measure. “I’m going to get this stuff cleaned and get out of here. I’m totally shot,” she said, turning back to the sink. “Can you manage now?”
“I’ll muddle through. By the way, thank you.”
“For?”
“For taking messages. I appreciate it.”
She grinned over her shoulder. “No problem, Your Worship. You have a good day?”
“I did,” he said.
“What do you do at the hospital?” she asked.
“Visit.”
“Visit?”
“There are people who don’t get company, people waiting around for someone to get out of surgery, people waiting for someone to die. It’s the kind of place where a friendly face and a few kind words go a long way.”
“People you know?” she asked, turning back toward him.
He shook his head. “I don’t have a congregation. They’re complete strangers. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Aw, Noah. That’s nice.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you, I am nice.”
She dried her hands on a towel. “Yeah. Watch out for Gloria, toots. I think she’s looking for more than nice.”
Ellie walked back down the street from the church to her rented room, feeling that good kind of tired that comes from having worked hard and done well. She was down to sixty-seven dollars until she could pry some church money out of the fierce grip of her cute boss. Oh, how she wished he was ugly, stupid or gay, she thought for the hundredth time. Why couldn’t he just be gay? That would make life so much easier.
But he was not gay. Rather, he had waves of testosterone rolling off him. There was that build, for one thing—powerful. And that thick hair that fell over his collar, itching for her to run her fingers through it, and the burning blue eyes, the hands…Oh, God, his hands! When she got up close, and if he had his sleeves rolled up, she noticed a map of tiny white scars that marred the backs of his hands and forearms. When she knew him better, she was going to ask about the scars, maybe twenty of them, but she suspected he got them when he was doing whatever he’d been doing to make his palms callused and rough. He’d only touched her a couple of times, just guiding her in a gentlemanly fashion, but she felt his rough hands. You don’t get those in a pulpit.
Thinking about Noah made it difficult to remember that there would never again be a man in her life. Ever, ever, ever. She’d been hurt by men too often. Okay, there hadn’t been many, but the three major contenders had been totally horrible. Death, prison and weirdness. If there’d been even one lucky break where love was concerned, she might consider another stab at it down the line a bit, but not likely. She had already proven she didn’t know how to pick a man, and it was doubtful she could start now.
But he was very attractive, the preacher man. Six feet, ink-black hair with a lock that fell over his brow sometimes. Expressive dark brows over the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. And lips that just screamed Come to Papa. Then there was that smile. Or, all those smiles—the one that indulged, the one that mocked, the one that burst out of him before he could stop it. He couldn’t hide the fact that for a devout sort of guy there was some bad boy in him that he was barely keeping under control. His smile came with dimples that almost brought her to her knees. Six feet of delicious man with strong shoulders, long legs and big, hard hands.
Yeah, he could get her in trouble.
But then, if she was realistic, he was a minister. No matter how he set her on fire, he was puritanical and pure, right? Life was just too short to forgo that playful, naughty edge. She didn’t want to be in the missionary position for the rest of her life, anyway. He’d probably make love with his black socks on. And his T-shirt. Lights out, covers up, in and out real quick, no screaming. Dull and boring.
Oh, that’s right, she forgot, she thought with a laugh. She was giving up all positions. No men, no sex, no more heartaches or headaches. But it would be easier on her nerves if he were just a little homelier.
She wondered if she should be grateful he even inspired thoughts of sex; it had been so long since she’d even been tempted. She had all but forgotten what tempted felt like. Long before Trevor was born, and it was a miracle Arnie hadn’t killed it altogether.
Ellie stopped her daydreaming and realized she was almost home. When she got to her new address, she found Mrs. Fitch raking leaves and pine needles out of the flower bed in front of her porch. “Hey there, Mrs. Fitch. How’s it going?”
Jo Ellen looked at her. “Fine, Ellie. Are you off early today?”
“Kind of. The reverend has an appointment and I’ve been starting at the crack of dawn all week. I was painting by five this morning.”
“He’s got you painting?” Jo Ellen asked.
“Mrs. Fitch, there’s not a dirty chore in that old trash heap of a church that I’m not doing. While we get it pulled together, anyway.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“I feel good,” Ellie said with a smile, rolling the ache out of her stiff shoulders. “Nothing like some good old hard work. You should see the bathrooms—they look great. I can tell Reverend Kincaid can’t figure out how he got stuck with me, I am so not a churchy person, but I’ll tell you what, it was his lucky day. The stuff that has to be done around there? Painting, cleaning, organizing? Heck, I’ve had to make do so much of my life, that’s what I know best—making something decent out of a mess. Lots easier than computer programs.”
Jo Ellen leaned on her rake and laughed. “Would you like some iced tea?”
Ellie ran the palms of her hands down her pant legs. “Oh, gee, I’m a mess. I probably smell like paint and sweat, besides.”
“Better than me—I smell like compost. Why don’t I bring us some tea out here to the front porch. Just for a little break.”
“That’s awful nice of you. Thanks.” Gosh, Ellie secretly mused, I thought she didn’t like me. I thought I had tricked her into renting me that room.
Jo Ellen was a plain woman in her fifties, but she had a softness that made her pretty. Her hair was light brown and strung with gray, which gave it a dull appearance, and she pulled it back in a simple catch at the base of her neck. She didn’t wear makeup, which made perfect sense while gardening, but then, she hadn’t worn it when she first met Ellie, either. Her eyebrows had a nice arch, which made her expression pleasant. But what Ellie noticed about her for the first time, was that her complexion was clear and her skin tight and smooth. There was a little bit of sun on her cheeks and nose from her afternoon of outdoor work. And her smile, which Ellie hadn’t seen much of the first day they met, was lovely.
When Jo Ellen returned with two glasses of tea on a tray with a few cookies, Ellie said, “My gosh, Mrs. Fitch, this is just so nice of you.”
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. And call me Jo Ellen. Or Jo—that’s what my friends call me. It occurred to me that I hadn’t visited with you at all since you moved into your little apartment. You’ve been there a couple of weeks already! I didn’t want to bother you while you had your children with you, but now that you’re on your own again, I want to at least make an effort to get to know you a little bit.”
“I hope that’s okay. About the kids,” Ellie said. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have them overnight. It’s a mess, this custody business.” She sipped her tea. “Do you and Mr. Fitch have children?”
