Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tony leaned back in his desk chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He wants to meet in Des Moines tonight? Why didn’t he call me himself?”
Across from him, Harold Clarke shrugged. “I know Larry tried your voicemail. Didn’t want to leave anything sensitive that way. He and I go way back, so he figured I might want to tag along.”
Tony’s mind clicked through the implications. Larry Babcock—his pastoral advisor from the Illinois district office—wasn’t exactly casual about anything. If he was reaching out now, unannounced, it likely wasn’t just to check in.
“Are you going with him?” Tony asked.
“I’d like to,” Harold said, “but Darlene and I have tickets to that musical in Des Moines tonight.”
Tony blinked. Darlene?
It took him a beat to realize Harold meant Mrs. Sandy. Huh. He hadn’t seen that coming—but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Both were steady, grounded, full of kindness and quiet conviction.
“You two seeing each other?” Tony asked, trying to sound offhand.
Harold smiled without answering directly. “Let’s just say dinner and a show isn’t the worst way to spend a Friday.”
Tony nodded, still a little surprised. “Well, since you’ll be in Des Moines anyway, why not swing by the restaurant before the show?”
“I thought about that. But Larry can’t meet until seven, and curtain’s at seven-thirty.”
Tony sighed. “Too tight a squeeze.”
“Think you’ll go?”
Tony nodded slowly. “I’ve got the prison ministry session in Des Moines this afternoon—three to six-thirty. If I ride down with the others, I can leave the Jeep for Claire, then we can head back together after dinner.”
“Smart thinking.” Harold reached into his coat pocket and handed Tony a folded slip of paper. “Here’s the restaurant info. Larry’s punctual—don’t keep him waiting.”
Tony glanced at the address, then slid the note into his planner.
“They want Claire to come, too,” Harold added.
Tony nodded again. “We’d already planned to go out tonight. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Harold’s expression turned warm. “You’ve got a good woman, Tony. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure how she’d take to small-town life. But from what I’ve seen—and what Darlene’s told me—she’s really stepped up.”
Tony’s chest lifted. Claire had stepped up. More than that, she’d become part of him.
It wasn’t just her charm or her beauty or even her laugh—which, if he was honest, he already missed when she left a room. It was the way she’d opened herself, little by little. The way she’d started to care, not just about him, but about the church, the town, the people.
He swallowed hard.
“That wedding will be here before you know it.” Harold chuckled. “How many days now?”
Tony hesitated. “Seven.”
Seven days until the moment that was supposed to be the end of everything.
Unless he changed the ending.
Claire had become part of his world. His mornings, his thoughts, his hope. And lately, he’d begun to believe she wanted to stay. Maybe not just in Millville, but with him .
So why did the idea of telling her what he felt turn his stomach into knots?
You know why, a voice inside him whispered. Because what if you’re wrong?
Tony exhaled slowly. There was only one way to find out.
Tonight, he’d ask.
* * *
“Okay, we’re set. We’ll meet at the restaurant at seven,” Tony said, his voice all business. “That means you’ll have to leave no later than six.”
Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d promised him—twice—that she’d be on time. Sworn on a stack of Bibles, even. Still, his nerves were clearly getting the better of him.
“Tony, sweetheart.” She touched his cheek, her fingers cool against his skin. “Haven’t I already said I’ll be there?”
“I know.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s just... this guy is basically my boss.”
“And I realize that,” Claire said, her patience thinning. “That’s why—unless something better comes up—I’ll be there.”
His eyes widened. “Unless something?—?”
“I’m kidding,” she said quickly, laughing.
“Claire...” His voice was all warning.
She relented with a sigh. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
“Will you?”
She tilted her head, amused. “Want me to write it in blood?”
He hesitated. For a second, she thought he might say yes. But then he smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
“Not necessary,” he said. “I… trust you.”
Claire’s breath caught. For just a moment, she’d thought he was going to say he loved her. But the words hadn’t come. Again.
She squared her shoulders. Enough waiting. If he didn’t say it first, she would.
* * *
Upstairs, she slipped into her robe and took a seat at the vanity, brushing her hair until it gleamed. The light outside the bedroom window caught the shine just right. Her nails—freshly done and a gorgeous red—rested neatly against the edge of the dresser. Not as polished as her old stylist back in Colorado, but good enough.
She smiled at her reflection. Everything felt ready. Everything had built to this.
She’d chosen her perfume carefully—one her father brought back from Paris. She’d dabbed it behind her ears, across her wrists, and over her heart. A kind of armor, maybe, for what lay ahead.
Tonight, she would tell Tony the truth.
Funny how terrifying that felt.
She’d heard those words from so many men before— I love you. And she’d laughed at some, brushed others off. How had she never realized what courage it took to say those words out loud?
Please let him say it back. The thought rose before she could stop it.
She glanced down at her engagement ring, twisting it slowly. Would it still be there tomorrow? Or would her hand be bare?
She looked up. “Dear God,” she whispered. “If it’s Your will… let us stay together. If it’s not—help me walk away.”
There. She’d said it. Or prayed it, at least. And oddly, the words gave her strength.
* * *
A knock at the door jolted her back to the present.
“Claire?”
She tied her robe tighter. “Come in, April.”
The girl stepped into the room, her gaze flicking over Claire’s silk robe and bare feet. “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”
Claire arched a brow. “Unless you’re expecting to find a man hiding under the bed—or in the closet—you’re out of luck.”
April giggled. “You? Please. You’re way too Goody Two-Shoes for that.”
Claire blinked. That was a new one. “Goody Two-Shoes?”
April shrugged, flopping onto the edge of the bed. “I mean, look at you. Bible study, baking pies… you’ve gone full Millville.”
Claire gave a dry smile. “Guess I’ll be wearing pearls and reading devotionals before breakfast next.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing.” April grinned. “Anyway, I just hope my blind date tonight turns out decent. Fingers crossed he’s even half as cute as Tony.”
Claire’s smile faltered. “Just… be careful, April. Older guys don’t always come with good intentions.”
“I can handle myself.”
Claire hoped that was true, but the sudden twist in her gut said otherwise.
* * *
Two hours later, she zipped up her favorite red dress. Versace. The one Tony couldn’t stop staring at the last time she wore it.
She glanced at the clock. Still early. No point leaving just yet—Tony would barely beat her there.
She liked having the house to herself. Time to breathe. Time to imagine how he’d respond when she told him she loved him.
Would he be surprised? Or had he been waiting all this time for her to say it first?
She smiled. And then the house phone rang.
She almost didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” April said, her voice barely audible. “I need you.”
Claire’s back straightened. “April? Where are you?”
“The Nordstrom place. North of town.”
Claire’s breath caught. “I thought you were at the lake.”
“I just—please come. My phone is dying…”
Click.
Silence.
Panic laced through Claire. The Nordstrom’s farm was out of town. Wayne was at least twenty-three—and trouble. She remembered the way he’d looked at her that day like she was something he’d bought and paid for.
Claire snatched her purse and keys, her decision firm. She tried Tony’s number, but it went straight to voicemail—he must have turned it off.
After leaving a quick message explaining everything, she slipped the phone back into her bag and headed out the door.
She’d be late to dinner. Tony would be disappointed. But he’d never want her to ignore someone in need. He’d understand. He had to.
As she slid into the driver’s seat and started the Jeep, she whispered a quick, desperate prayer.
Please let April be okay. Please let me help her. And please let Tony understand.
* * *
The Nordstrom farmhouse sat a quarter mile back from the road, a gravel drive flanked by cedar trees leading to a weathered two-story house with a wraparound porch.
Claire pulled into the farmyard, instantly spotting Wayne’s tan pickup. The sleek Mercedes convertible next to it didn’t belong—an exotic splash of money and ego in a place that hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years. Still, she felt just as out of place.
She parked the Jeep between the vehicles and climbed out, silently praying April had overreacted. She took the porch steps two at a time.
The door opened before she could knock.
The man who answered looked like a walking magazine ad—sunlight hair, gleaming teeth, and confident blue eyes that had likely undone more than one woman. Expensive shirt. Lazy smile.
Claire knew the type. Knew him by reputation.
“You must be Jay Nordstrom,” she said coolly.
His smile deepened. “Guilty. You must be Claire. April said she called a friend—she didn’t mention you were gorgeous.”
It was the kind of line she used to expect. But with April’s call still ringing in her ears, it made her skin prickle.
She extended her hand. “Claire Waters.”
His handshake was firm, but his palm was too smooth.
“So you’re Millville’s golden boy. GQ cover and network anchor, right? I thought your mom said you lived in L.A.”
“I do.” He chuckled, as if that explained everything. “Ever been?”
“I’ve been to Des Moines. Once.”
He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Next month People’s doing a spread on me.”
She bit back a sigh. “Wish I’d brought my autograph book.”
He paused, unsure if she was impressed or mocking him. She didn’t clarify.
“I think you and I are going to have fun tonight,” he said, his gaze dropping to her chest.
Claire stepped out from under his arm. “Let me check on April first.”
He leaned in, the scent of whiskey and cologne clinging to him. “She’s with Wayne. Might finally be getting lucky.”
Claire’s stomach turned. She crossed the living room and knocked on the door he’d indicated—then pushed it open.
Wayne stood swaying, red-eyed and slurring. “You came to party. You’re not going home.”
April sat rigid in an armchair, her arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes wide. She leapt up at the sight of Claire. “I knew you’d come.”
Claire forced a bright smile. “There’s nothing I love more than crashing a good party.”
Jay sauntered in behind her, bottles dangling from his hand. “Bud or Jack?”
Claire took a Bud she didn’t want. “Where are your parents?”
“They took Aunt Lena to Iowa City for some medical tests.” Jay shrugged. “Won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”
Great .
Claire turned to April, her tone light. “How about we grab some air?”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Wayne barked.
Claire’s stomach clenched. Wayne’s eyes had gone glassy and mean.
“I’m not doing anything with either of you!” April’s voice cracked with panic. “You can’t make me!”
Claire spotted the deck of cards on the coffee table and stepped forward, her smile practiced. “Hey, you guys like poker?”
Wayne leered. “Strip poker.”
Jay raised a brow, then shrugged. “Sure.”
Claire sensed it then. Jay was buzzed, but not dangerous—not like his brother. She could work with him.
“You’ll have to send April home,” she said quickly. “She’s underage. You want that hanging over your heads?”
Wayne frowned, confused. “What?”
Jay’s head turned sharply. “You said she was twenty-one.”
“That’s what she told me!” Wayne snapped.
“I brought April for you,” Wayne added, then gestured at Claire. “This one’s mine.”
Jay glanced at April. “Get real. I’m not into kids.”
April’s chin lifted. “I’m not doing anything. You can’t make me.”
Both men were tall, muscular, and likely used to getting their way. Claire knew they didn’t stand a chance if it came to force.
She had to stall.
“I might be up for a game,” she said, lightly. “But only if April goes home. She’s jailbait. Neither of you needs that kind of trouble.”
Wayne hesitated. “But then we’ll be short one.”
Claire’s gaze slid to Jay. “If you play your cards right,” she said smoothly, “you can both still be winners.”
Jay’s eyes met hers. Then, he turned to his brother. “Let the kid go.”