Now and Always (12 page)

“I know you're right. Common sense says you're right. It's my heart that I can't convince.” Katie had been having the same thoughts and conclusions. She couldn't lose everything. Grandpops would roll over in his grave, and Tottie's Social Security American Indian Heritage check was all she had. Katie couldn't bring herself to quit now. Not yet. She hadn't given the budget enough time to produce results. A few more weeks, and the financial picture would brighten. “I guess I'll just have to pray harder for God to provide a way.”

“We'll both pray, but we must be open to God's leading. If the answer we get isn't what we want to hear, we have to be willing to submit to what we believe he's telling us.”

Katie nodded, but her soul didn't agree. God couldn't want her to close this shelter that had offered refuge to so many battered women. She couldn't make a hasty decision based on a monetary crisis, not yet. But she didn't see how they could continue much longer. Warren's budget had better work. It was their last hope.

A few days later, Warren phoned. “Thought I'd come out today and see how you're doing with the budget. Is that all right with you?”

“Sure.” She didn't want to sound disinterested, but she wasn't ready for another financial discussion that left her feeling that she'd never get the hang of saving money. There was no reason not to let him come, though. The women were feeling better now, almost back to normal. The sun was shining. Nothing unusual had happened lately, and Katie had begun to relax. Maybe the strange incidents of late were caused by kids playing pranks. At least the harassment had ceased for the time being.

Warren sat across the desk, thinking Katie looked a little pale. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, no new problems, other than we've all had a stomach bug.”

“Oh yeah? Everyone doing okay now?”

“Sure. We're over it.” She handed him the latest figures on the week's expenditures, and he zeroed in on one glaring amount.

“You paid how much for what?”

“Ninety-five dollars for caviar and a case of gourmet crackers.” The tilt of her chin told him she wouldn't take kindly to criticism. “Eighty dollars plus shipping and handling.”

“You're nuts.”

“Maybe so, but a guest felt that she needed it.”

He leaned back, shaking his head. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

If he hinted one more time that she was an imbecile, she was going to lose her temper. “I know it's extravagant.” Even more so since Clara hadn't eaten a bite of the caviar. But there were still a few crackers around.

He took a stab at guessing the reason. “Clara missing her little treats?”

For a moment Katie wasn't going to answer, and then she nodded. “She says she'll have her people send me a check, but I won't do that again.”

“If I were you, Katie, I'd send Clara packing. She's a politician. She craves the spotlight, and she'll eventually give her location away. You know that, don't you?”

“I can't ask her to leave. We promised her a safe haven till after the election.”

Warren's next words shocked Katie. “She lived with him while he was abusive. What makes you think she'll be any different once the elections are over? Is she going to change, fight back, and have the louse thrown in jail? What?”

She didn't care for his barely civil tone. “I don't know, Warren. That's up to her. But while she's here, Candlelight will provide her shelter.” She saw no point in telling him her suspicions that this was a onetime incident. Not that it mattered. Once was enough.

“Katie my friend, you're in a dangerous business. You need to watch your back.”

“I understand your concern, Warren, but you don't understand mine. These women, including Clara, have a mortal fear of their abusers, and they won't do anything foolish. They're here because they need help. I strongly believe God gives grace and shelter when we ask for it. He'll take care of the shelter and the women, and he'll take care of me.”

When Warren left, Katie was glad to see him go.

Twelve

Janet usually wanted to get the mail, but today she was helping Tottie in the kitchen. So after lunch Katie walked to the rural box, opened the lid, and peered inside. A wad of something floral met her eyes. On closer inspection, she found a bouquet of roses, crumpled roses. She stared at the crumpled arrangement. Who?

These had to be for one of the women, but who would send such an insulting arrangement in such a discourteous manner?

A man who wanted to show his scorn for the recipient.

A name rose unbidden to her lips. Neil Townsend. The election was growing near, and Neil had to have sent these to torment Clara. Katie looked at the crumpled bouquet and fumed. The image of the smooth-talking abuser chatting amicably with Hannity and Colmes infuriated her. If the public only knew. But the flowers answered her question. Neil knew where to find Clara. The floral offering was a sick reminder from an even sicker man.

She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in the sheriff's number. He answered on the second ring.

“Ben?”

“Katie? What's up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

She told him about the crumpled flowers. “I'm sure Neil Townsend has discovered Clara's location. I want a restraining order.”

“Why don't I lasso you the moon instead?”

“I don't need the moon. I need a restraining order.”

He whistled under his breath. “That won't be easy. Clara needs to get the order, and if her husband is bothering her, a restraining order won't stop him. It's only good when it's enforced.

“Tell Clara
to call her lawyer. Some men will pay attention to an order and some won't, and I'm betting Townsend won't. He's not doing it anyway — he's having someone else do his dirty work. Dollars to donuts, Townsend's sitting up in Washington innocent as a newborn babe. Besides, you don't know the flowers were meant for Clara. Maybe they were meant for you. You're a beautiful woman. A lot of men might be moved to send you flowers.”

“Dead flowers?”

“I might. Considering that I can't get your attention any other way.”

She fell silent. The only man she knew gutsy enough to cram dead flowers in her mailbox was . . . Ben.

He wouldn't dare.

“I'm not trying to, Katie.” His tone dropped. “But I can. We had fun at the ballgame the other night. I was thinking, how about dinner and a movie Saturday night?”

Katie felt a flicker of irritation. This was no time to get personal. She needed help. “I'm sorry, Ben. I've got too much going on right now. Everyone at the shelter's been down with a bug, and in spite of what you think, something weird is going on here.”

His tone sobered. “More weird than usual?”

She went over the events of the week — the door jamb, unexplained noises at night — and her general sense of unease.

“Relax. The flu bug has you antsy. Let me take you out Saturday, and you'll relax.”

Katie tapped her finger on the mailbox and did not answer.

“Let me guess. You have to wash your hair.”

“No.”

“Paint your nails.”

“No.” She rolled her eyes.

“Shave your legs.”

“Wrong.”

“Okay, I'm down to your last excuse. You're going to have to help me. You have the mumps. Hives. Headache. Iron poor, tired blood. You have to give blood, have a blood transfusion, drive a Blood Mobile?”

“No. No. And no.”

She heard a sigh. He said, “Last one. ‘Another time, Ben.' ”

She grinned. “That'll do for now.”

“Ten-four.” His professionalism returned. “Ma'am, I advise you not to worry about the weird happenings. I will personally come by and check all the doors, windows, and outbuildings, and the tire tracks around the mailbox.”

“When?”

“The moment I hang up.” He sounded preoccupied then. She could hear the click of computer keys. So he was taking her serious, taking notes. Good. He needed to take her seriously.

She ended the call, wishing she could get more excited about the man. He wasn't a slug. He was cute, actually, but the spark wasn't there. But Warren, as frustrating and moody as he could be sometimes, still had the power to send her pulse racing. Katie hoped Warren would eventually come around. His emotional scars were still fresh. But she couldn't shake the growing sense that maybe, just maybe this was the one, the man she could eventually love with all her heart and soul. The one God had been holding back until she was sure of what she wanted.

And if her feelings proved right, she wanted Warren Tate.

Katie carried the bundle of wilted flowers back to the house, debating whether to tell Clara about them or not. Not. What good would it do to tell her and upset her unnecessarily? After all, they weren't addressed to any one specifically. For all Katie knew, Ben
could
have sent them to her.

Oh, he wouldn't. He wouldn't dare.

She searched for any sort of note, but there was none. Where the flowers came from was anybody's guess. On closer inspection, she decided they came from a local grocery store. But were they from a frantic spouse or suitor, desperate to make amends, or a threatening husband sending a voiceless warning?

Or someone just desperate?

Thirteen

Katie dialed Warren's number and waited while it rang three times. He picked up on the fourth. “Hello?”

She must have caught him at a bad time, because irritation tinged his voice, and she immediately thought about hanging up and calling at a more convenient time. “Are you busy? I can call back later.”

“What do you need?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this budget. I've got a couple of unexpected typing jobs lined up, which will give me a little more money to play with.”

“You don't have any money to play with. What part of
broke
don't you understand? You have to stick with the original budget. If you don't, then you're going to go under.”

“I can stay with it. It will be hard, but not impossible. I just thought the extra typing money would help.”

“You're blessed with additional income. Thank your lucky stars, and stick it away for necessities.”

“Okay.”

Warren laughed, his tone softening. “I'll bet you'll do just that. How many lattes have you had this week?”

“Only a couple. I'm getting better.”

“If you say so.”

All right, this was not her imagination. There was a definite hint of sarcasm in his words. “I'm sure I can, with your help.”

Silence fell between them. Then his voice came over the line, holding a tone of finality. “No, Katie. I'm not going to be your conscience. I've given you a budget, but you have to follow it on your own. I'm backing off, as of now. It's up to you to prove you want to keep that shelter going.”

“Of course I'm going to keep the shelter open. I'm committed to these women. There is no way I'm going to close it.”

“Have you considered that you're being selfish? Is it fair of you to run through Tottie's money? She's getting older. What will happen to her if you aren't able to support her? Cross the wrong abuser, and you'll be a statistic in the morning newspaper. Have you considered that?”

Warren's years of management seeped through. He was a tough boss, but Katie didn't take offense. He was accustomed to having his orders met, and she was responsible for following his advice regarding the budget. But she refused to consider closing the shelter. Not yet.

“What about the women?” she demanded.

“They'll manage. Most of us do one way or another.”

Katie sighed. Poor Warren. His lack of faith sagged to a new low, and she wasn't exactly a shining beacon of hope. “They don't ‘manage' very well, but I respect your advice. It is my responsibility to follow the budget, and I will. You'll be proud of me.”

“I'd be more proud if you'd stop trying to save the world. I don't want you hurt.”

“I'll be all right. God's done a good job so far.”

“Yeah, right. We have to take care of ourselves in this world.”

He hung up, and Tottie breezed into the room. “Are you going to town today?”

“I can. What do you need?”

She held out a list. “Not a lot, but we're out of a few things, if you don't mind driving in and getting them.”

Katie took the paper. “I might as well run a few errands while I'm at it. Keep me from having to go back tomorrow.”

When she reached
Little Bush, Katie automatically turned onto the street where she usually drank her lattes. Change was hard. Sticking to a budget was worse, especially for a woman who craved caffeine. Her problems were larger than lattes, but the steaming cup of fragrant, ground, Costa Rican beans, blended and roasted to create a tangy, full-bodied beverage . . .