A Silence in the Heart (Holmes Crossing Book 4) Page 4

  "Warning taken. But I'd prefer it if you and Crystal discuss any future discounts with me as well as Dr. Harvey."

  "Okay." She spun around and flipped open the checkbook, dismissing him with her actions.

  So much for impressing Miss Harris today, David thought with a light sigh. Why did he bother?

  Because there's something intriguing about her. Because she's got a softness that comes through unexpectedly at times.

  Because sometimes you just can't explain attraction even when the timing is all wrong.

  As David stepped into the foyer of the church, the dull noise of pre-service Sunday conversation washed over him. Clusters of people familiar with each other laughed and exchanged stories as they pulled mail from the bank of mailboxes along one wall. Two young boys, hair slicked Sunday-smooth, shrieked past him with an older girl in heated pursuit.

  Like a wave, frowns of older people followed the boys' progress and then disappeared as people were drawn back into conversation with their neighbors. He looked over the gathering, surprised and a little unsettled at the faint sense of expectancy he felt.

  Maybe he would see Tracy.

  Even as the thought formulated, he stopped it. He knew she wasn't interested, but he still allowed himself a tiny thrum of hope of seeing her in a casual setting, away from the clinic.

  "David. Hello," a voice behind him called out, and he turned to face a young woman in a white shirt and dark pants, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, holding the hand of a little boy.

  "Hey, Leslie. How are you doing?" He winked at the boy. "And hey, Nicholas."

  Nicholas just looked at him as if he didn’t understand why this man was acknowledging him.

  "So where is Dan? I was going to ask him how that prolapsed cow is doing."

  "No. Absolutely not. No shop talk on Sunday. Either for you or him," she said with a warning waggle of her finger. "Anyhow, I just thought I would say hi." Then Leslie lifted her chin, looking past him.

  "Looks like someone else wants to talk to you." She gave him a quick smile and then left.

  With a frown, David turned, and his heart jumped in his chest.

  Emily. Heather's sister. He hadn't counted on seeing her before the get-together in Freeman.

  "What brings you here?" he blurted out to her before he could stop himself.

  "We're visiting Jack's parents."

  Right. He had forgotten that Emily's in-laws, Jack's parents, the Friedmans, lived in Holmes Crossing.

  "So I thought I would say hi. Haven't seen much of you. I hope you haven't been avoiding us."

  David couldn't stop a faint flush of guilt. He had, actually. Though he had been living in Holmes Crossing for a couple of months already, he hadn't taken the time to visit Heather's parents. A combination of trying to fit into work and trying to figure out where to put his once-fiancée's parents.

  "I've been settling in. Work's been busy."

  She nodded, but he could tell from the way her lips thinned that she didn't quite believe him.

  Then she laid her hand on his arm, her features going soft. "And how have you been doing?"

  He knew she was referring to Heather's death.

  "It's always hard to think about Heather," he said, not sure what she wanted to hear.

  "You two were so happy together," Emily said, wiping a tear from her eye, expressing a sorrow almost as strong as the guilt David felt at his inability to match it. "I can't believe it's been a whole year." She sniffed and pulled David closer, as if seeking comfort from him.

  "Me neither." David returned Emily's hug and then gently drew away. As he did, he couldn't stop a quick guilty glance around the foyer. Still looking for Tracy.

  "Jack. Look who I found," Emily said as they approached a tall man holding the hands of two children.

  The man's smile was warm. Friendly. David knew that Emily's husband Jack would be a little easier to deal with than the still-sniffing Emily.

  "Are you going to sit with us, Uncle David?" Rachel, Emily's daughter, slipped around her father and punched David lightly on the arm.

  Thankful for the distraction, David glanced down at Emily's daughter and tweaked her nose.

  "Are you sure you want to sit with an old man like me?"

  Rachel rolled her eyes with all the expertise of a young girl on the cusp of her teens and gave him another punch. "Whatever."

  "What's with that?" David complained with mock seriousness, thankful for a return to ordinary. "A new way to tell me you love me?" He gave her a quick one-armed hug.

  "Uncle David, you're totally messing up my hair."

  "You want to see messing?" David let his hand hover over her hair, grinning down at Rachel's horrified face.

  "Excuse me, please."

  The quiet voice drew him around. And there stood Tracy Harris, trying to edge past him.

  "Hello, Tracy."

  Her head jerked up; a light frown furrowed her smooth brow. Then as she recognized him, a smile played along her lips.

  "Hello yourself," she said, her brown eyes holding his. Her hand came up to fiddle with the top button of her shirt. Its vibrant peach color enhanced her tanned features, emphasized her dark hair. She looked beautiful.

  "So you decided to come this morning?" he asked.

  Very slick, David. Very suave. Keep smiling and she won't think you're a complete idiot. Just a partial one.

  "I usually do." Her smile held a teasing note now.

  "I didn't see you last Sunday. I sat in the back. The week before that, I visited my father back in Grande Prairie." David's brain scrambled, trying to come up with something wittier than a listing of his travel agenda.

  "Then it's good to see you here," Tracy said, running her hands up and down the leather strap of her purse. She smiled at Rachel and was about to turn away.

  Before he could stop himself, he detained her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tracy. I'm losing my manners," he said as she turned back. Her eyebrows lifted as if questioning him.

  "This is my niece Rachel Friedman. She lives in Freeman with my . . ."—he stumbled over his relationship to Heather's sister—"with Emily and her husband, Jack Friedman, her parents." David glanced down at Rachel, hoping she would cooperate. "Rachel, this is Tracy Harris. She works with me at the clinic."

  "Hello, Rachel." Tracy held out her hand, and Rachel took it reluctantly, glancing at David as if asking him why he was making her talk to this woman.

  "What do you do for my uncle David?" Rachel asked, putting a polite smile on her face as she made the requisite small talk.

  What a doll. Way to extend the conversation. David gave Rachel's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

  "Some interesting things. And some ordinary things." Tracy's gaze glanced over at David, back to Rachel as if trying to figure out the uncle part. "The other day we sewed up a kitten's leg."

  Tracy's gaze met his, her features softened by her smile, and once again he found himself drawn to her.

  "Hey, David." Emily slipped her arm through his. "We should sit down."

  David glanced back at her, stifling his annoyance. "Be with you in a minute."

  But when he turned back to Tracy, she was gone.

  Tracy tapped her fingers restlessly against her crossed arms, her eyes searching the sanctuary for Danielle. After her little run-in with David and his family, she had slipped into the washroom to re-do her lipstick, fuss with her hair.

  It has nothing to do with him, she reminded herself. She was just feeling a little flustered. Though she knew David attended her church, she hadn't seen him before today. The idea shouldn't have bothered her, but for some reason, church had always been her sanctuary. And now David was showing up here as well.

  "Looking for a spot, Tracy?" The usher, a trim, dapper man of about seventy was beside her, handing her a printed order of worship and a bulletin of church news and events.

  "Have you seen Danielle Hemstead, Mr. Henderson?"

  The older man shook his
head, the overhead lights glinting off his shiny scalp. "I'm afraid not. There are some empty spots on the other side of the sanctuary. She might be there."

  Tracy stood up on tiptoe, trying one last time to find Danielle. Nothing. She turned back to the usher with a light sigh of resignation. "Just make sure you don't seat me too close to the front." She disliked parading down the aisle.

  Mr. Henderson gave her a conspiratorial smile. "I've got just the place."

  He led her, in his slow, hitching step, along the back of a bank of pews, down the aisle, and then he stopped by an open seat at the end of a bench. Tracy faltered when she saw the other occupants of the pew.

  David and his family. Or whatever they were.

  She spied another empty seat farther up that she would have preferred to sit in. But it would have been rude to simply walk past Mr. Henderson.

  So she nodded her thanks and then slipped into the bench, flashing a quick glance sideways, but David was leaning over Rachel and hadn't seen her yet. She unfolded the bulletin, reading over the events of the week, notices of a bake sale, a thank-you from Kathy Greidanus for the cards after her daughter's hospitalization. But the longer she looked down, the harder it became to ignore David.

  Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rachel point at her. Saw David's head turn.

  Then the praise group started up, the congregation rose to its feet as people gradually joined in, and thankfully, David's attention was focused elsewhere.

  She wished hers was as well.

  David had a deep voice. Pleasant. He sang along easily, his fingers tapping out the tune on the pew in front of him.

  Once in a while, she sensed his eye on her, but she resolutely kept her gaze on the screen, as if seeing the words for the first time. Sitting beside him had not been a good idea. She was more aware of him than she liked.

  At the end of the last song, Pastor Hofstede walked up the steps to the pulpit and welcomed everyone. "And I'd like you to extend the hand of welcome to the people around you this morning," he said.

  There was the usual confusion of people turning around to face the backs of the persons behind them, who were also turning around. Tracy shook the hands of Wilma VandeKeere in front of her, Barry Nichols behind her, and then finally dared to turn to David.

  He was talking to a young couple in front of him, but his gaze skittered sideways, catching hers as if he had been waiting for her.

  "Welcome, Tracy." His handclasp was as firm as she knew it would be.

  "That should be my line," Tracy said with a light laugh. "Even though you've been here two months, according to Holmes Crossing, you're the visitor. I'm supposed to be welcoming you."

  "That's right. This is your hometown."

  David smiled at her, and Tracy realized that David still held her hand. She was suddenly aware of the warmth of it, of how hers was swallowed up in his, his large fingers curling around hers.

  Once again she felt as if his deep-set eyes had captured hers, pulled her into the very essence of him.

  This was getting a little dangerous.

  She pulled her hand out of his, but David seemed loathe to end the conversation.

  "I checked on Kent's kitten this morning," he said. "He's looking good."

  "Do you want me to check him later on today?"

  "No. I'll run by tonight."

  "That would be great."

  "Did your parents attend this church as well, or do they live somewhere else?" he asked.

  The mention of her mother was a splash of cold reality.

  "She doesn't live around here," was all she said. She turned away from David, fumbling for the songbook as the pastor announced the first song. She felt as if she had to apologize for her mother's absence, reminded again of her mother's lack. Growing up, her mother had only attended church when she felt like it. Which was maybe a handful of times. When she was sober.

  A throb of what she had felt her whole childhood returned. A dull pain woven of many smaller sorrows. Tracy had found respite from her past in the present. In God's faithful love.

  Tracy had promised herself after all the ineffective tears she'd shed over her mother and Art that no one was ever going to make her cry again.

  Tracy concentrated on the song, allowing it to still the other words in her heart. Words that condemned her as unworthy. As unimportant. The song pulled her close to God's side. She had perfect love unending beyond all knowledge and all thought available to her. Surely that should be enough.

  The service flowed along, the familiar liturgy and responses creating a rhythm that gave her sanctuary from her thoughts, a sanctuary she had discovered the first time she had been invited to church by Danielle.

  The scripture reading was from Colossians 3. Tracy opened her Bible, followed along.

  "Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly beloved," the pastor read, "Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you . . ."

  Tracy read the words, stopped, and read them again. Words so familiar once again become heavy with expectations.

  Forgive.

  For some reason, the word made her think of Kent and the key he carried around his neck. The same place she had always carried hers. She used to panic whenever she thought she couldn't feel it. It was her lifeline. Her mother wasn't often home, and if she didn't have her key, it meant she couldn't get into the apartment.

  Forgive.

  But that meant acknowledging her mother and letting her into her life.

  I can't do this yet. She closed her eyes as she clutched the spine of her Bible. I don't have the strength to deal with my mother yet. I'm getting somewhere with my own life. I can't acknowledge her yet.

  She looked up, past the people in the pews in front of her, beyond the pastor, to the stained-glass window above him. Diffused sunlight brought the window to sparkling life, spreading its jewel colors over the congregation like a benediction. Tracy drew in a slow breath and turned away from the window. Unconsciously, her glance slid sideways.

  David was watching her, a bemused expression on his face. She looked down at her Bible, pressing it against her. David was another complication she was unsure about right now. Being attracted to David was the fast track to heartbreak. She had nothing to give him.

  Only God is faithful. Only God.

  Chapter 4

  "You may as well bring this thing straight to the auto wrecker." The Monday-morning death sentence on her car was delivered without emotion by Chip Hemstead, a stalky young man with a tattoo of a snake slithering down his thick body-builder's neck. Chip was Danielle's youngest brother.

  Tracy had called him up when her car's engine coughed a few times and then coasted to a halt by the side of the road. Thankfully Chip had come right away, took one look at her car, and shook his head. Then he loaded it up on his truck.

  "You don't think it's worth fixing?" Tracy clung to a tiny sliver of hope as she got in the truck with him.

  "I told you the engine would need a new head sometime, and I guess this is the time. 'Sides, the tranny is on its last legs. I can't believe you got this much out of that beater yet." Chip had done all of Tracy's mechanic work, so he had first-hand experience with her car. And her do-it-yourself mechanic work. "Time to move on. Treat yourself to a new ride. I know how you squirrel away money. You can afford it." Chip put the tow truck in gear and drove onto the road. He had promised her a ride to work so she could figure out what to do with her now-disabled car.

  "Not really," she said as the hope was extinguished. "I'm going to need every penny I can scrounge together once I buy that land. I figured on my poor car lasting me a little longer than this."

  "Dani said you had some kind of land deal in the works. How's it comin'?" Chip tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

  "It's coming." After she coughed up two thousand dollars to Edgar Stinson. She had arran
ged to meet him tomorrow to discuss the deal further, though she still wasn't sure what to tell him.

  "You were always good with the dollars. Guess you had to be." Chip pulled into the parking lot, and Tracy was disappointed to see it was empty.

  Were you hoping David was here?

  She gave herself a mental shake and then flashed a smile at Chip. "Thanks. And do you mind to have a look at the car anyway?"

  Chip sighed as he shook his head. "You are an optimist."

  "Please?"

  "Okay. I'll see if there's anything I can do." He scratched his chin with his forefinger as he looked her way. "I'd love to be able to help you out. But no promises."

  "Thanks. I know."

  "Okay. Have a good 'un, Trace," he said as she got out.

  He backed up, and Tracy watched her disabled car leave, sending up a faint prayer that Chip could somehow miraculously fix her car. Then she unlocked the clinic door. She liked this quiet time before everyone came.

  In a few minutes, she had the coffeepot on and clean mugs set out, enjoying her early-morning routine. Since she started at the vet clinic, she cherished the rhythm of working here. The way things had a purpose and a meaning. Something she hadn't had a lot of growing up with Velma.

  Don't go there, she told herself, yanking open the fridge to pull out a packet of doughnuts she had brought in Saturday.

  It was gone.

  Puzzled, she checked the cupboards, but all she found was the usual sugar and coffee containers. And an empty cookie bag that had been full on Saturday. Surely one of the animals hadn't gotten out?

  When she went to check, the door to the room was already open. She knew for a fact that she had shut it. She was often the last one out, and it was her responsibility.

  Frowning, Tracy stepped inside. A faint whine issued from one of the cages, a rustling from another. Then a scrambling sound, and in the half light, Tracy saw a shadow slide along the far wall.

  "Who's there?" she called sharply, her heart kicking into high gear. "Come out so I can see you." She flicked on the light but stayed in the doorway, poised to run if she had to.

  "It's just me." A tiny figure stepped slowly out into the light, his head bent.