One More Kiss (10 page)

Then again, he might do none of those things. “You won’t harm me,” Betty Lindholm had said. “Test me and find out.”

It was quite possible that he’d found someone strong enough to rein him back if he stepped too close to the edge.

He squinted now in the dim light, trying to make sense of what he was seeing in front of Betty’s store. Her windows were covered over with white poster board, blocking out her Halloween display. Had she put up sale signs, he wondered, advertising the Lutheran church’s support of her store in an unconventional way?

It wasn’t until he was standing directly in front of the store that he realized how wrong he was. This wasn’t a sale or an advertisement. This was something very different indeed.

Written on the signs in a blocky, jagged scrawl were messages like
Halloween has gone too far!
And
Devil go home!
And
Restore righteousness to White Pine!

The blood roared in his ears. Anger flared. Who would do this? Didn’t they know Betty was a pillar of the White Pine community? His hands clenched, and he forced himself to take a breath. This was what caring about someone did to you. It made you dark with fury and anger when they were wronged.

And dammit, it felt good.

The Bible was full of such stories of spectacular, engulfing feelings that proved there was something worth getting worked up about. Job in the desert. Moses against the pharaoh. It didn’t have to destroy people. Maybe it could even help define them for better, and not just for worse.

He straightened his shoulders and grabbed the edge of the nearest sign. He ripped it from the window, tape and cardboard shrieking as it came away from the glass. The sound was deafening. He scowled, tearing the poster board in half.

Caring for Betty would make him feel an ocean of emotions, but instead of drowning in them, he would let them buoy him. He would defend her and love her furiously and deeply and completely. He would let the emotions make him strong, not weak.

He tore down more signs, one after the other, wondering who would have done this, and why. He would defend Betty to them if she wanted him to. He would confront them but not with fists. He would rage internally, but then let the grace and love that God had taught him underscore all his actions externally. He ripped and shredded and pulled until his breath puffed white in the clear cold. He was breathing hard—chest rising and falling—when he caught the scent.

Raspberry.

His gut was instantly filled with iron and thorns. He sniffed again, just to be sure. The sweet, flowery smell was there again, even stronger. It was in the ink. It was from the markers themselves.

Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d let too much time pass. He set his jaw, knowing what he needed to do. He glimpsed the church at the end of Main Street, the steeple glinting in the frosty morning like the hilt of a giant’s blade. He bundled the scraps of paper in his arms, tape twisting and fluttering along the edges, and strode purposefully up the street.

It was time to find Valerie Lofgren and have a talk with her.

And he had a pretty good idea where she was right this minute.

Minutes later, he shouldered open the back door of the church. It was already unlocked since Celia was always the first one in on Sundays, setting out bulletins and vacuuming and helping ready the place for Sunday service. Clutching his tattered bundle, he headed toward his office, knowing what he would see when he rounded the corner. And sure enough, there she was. Same as ever. Armed for Sunday morning with a long list of things she wanted to discuss with him. Valerie’s constant presence in his quarters made sense to him now, of course. He only wished he’d put it together before.

Valerie was seated in one of the battered chairs for guests alongside the wall outside his office. Her legs were crossed and her back was straight. If her face paled slightly when she saw what was in his arms, she covered it admirably.

“Good morning, Pastor. That’s quite a bundle you have there. Need a hand?”

He didn’t respond, only kicked open the door to his office and dropped the entire pile of scraps on his desk.

“I wanted to stop by because I had some updates to the bulletin,” Valerie said, smiling as she followed him into his office, “and we may want to think about repainting the lines around the handicapped parking space, so that Mrs. Ivard’s wheelch—”

“No,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “You will not stand here and pretend to be an upstanding member of this congregation after this.” He gestured to the pile of scraps. “Care to explain yourself?”

Valerie tilted her head, smoothing back a piece of hair as she did so. He watched her fingers tuck the errant strand in place, and wondered at her shiny nails, her clean cuticles. They were the opposite of Betty’s hands, which were work-worn and sturdy.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’d like you to use a different tone with me, please.”

“I’ll use whatever tone I need to,” he said, low and furious. Her eyes widened.

“Excuse me, Pastor, but I believe—”

“Right now, I don’t care what you believe. I care about what you’ve
done
. So you need to tell me immediately how these signs came to be placed on Betty Lindholm’s shop front in the dead of night, reeking like your raspberry markers.”

Her face did pale then, and God help him, he relished the sight. He savored the feeling of sticking up for Betty, even though she was strong enough not to need him. But that was the best part. He wasn’t doing this because he had to—because she compelled him to or liquor gave him false bravado—but simply because it felt good. It felt right.

He’d gotten a taste of the emotions that Betty Lindholm could send coursing through him, and the only thing he wanted was more of the same. More of her. More of them together. Always.

God had forgiven him for his past. Gus had forgiven him. And somewhere, he wanted to believe, Shawn had forgiven him, too.

The only person who hadn’t forgiven Randall Sondheim was Randall Sondheim.

Because of that, buried in the back of his mind, had been the question of whether he deserved someone like Valerie. Someone who would keep him from feeling too much, who would never ignite emotions in him that could lead to passion or rampant fervor of any sort, who would keep his spirit tidily in place while wearing her pearls and smart shoes.

But no more.

He’d allowed her to prattle around his office—and around his life—enough. And now it was time to put an end to things.

“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about,” Valerie said, indignant. “And if you’ll excuse me, I don’t need to stand here and be questioned like this.” She turned to leave, but he brought his fist down on the desk with such loud force that she stopped, frozen.

“This is not a game,” he said. “You are a member of the church board, which you delight in reminding me of almost daily. So
as a member of this church board
, you either come clean about the vandalism, or I’m going to take this to the cops. I’m sure they’ll be interested to know about someone slandering a local business.”

Valerie opened her mouth, then closed it. Her lips trembled. “You’re making too much of this. I only wanted to pass along a message of edification.”

Randall scoffed. “Edification? This is not noble work, Valerie. You did it in the middle of the night. Under cover of darkness so you wouldn’t be discovered. That’s not how heroes behave.”

“I…” She trailed off, her words fading.

“Why did you do it?” he demanded. She shook her head, but he refused to relent. “Tell me
why
.”

“Surely you…” She swallowed hard, tried again. “Surely you must understand why I did it, Randall.” She paled visibly. “I thought it would be glaringly obvious by now.”

She was saying what he’d finally brought to the forefront of his brain, what he’d finally let him self grasp. She had feelings for him.

“Valerie,” he said, more gently this time, “that hardly excuses this behavior. Trying to disparage Betty’s business? Because you liked me? It’s straight out of high school.”

Valerie’s eyes flashed defiantly. “Well, it
feels
like high school,” she said. “Betty Lindholm had her claws into Cole Anderson for years, and she never let anyone else have a chance with him. So I took matters into my hands. Same as now. Her business is dark and ghoulish and ungodly this time of year. So I did something about it. Then and now, I look at all this as rightful action.”

“I look at it as borderline criminal,” Randall said, working to keep his voice even. “And certainly not the behavior of someone who sits on the board of this church. I need to ask you to resign immediately.”

Valerie blinked rapidly. “Resign? For this?” She waved her hand at the crumpled signs as if they were nothing more than a few Post-its.

“As I said, effective immediately.”

She gave him a shaky smile. “Randall, this is all a misunderstanding. I care about you. I’m sorry if I didn’t express it correctly. But you have to know how I feel.”

Randall felt a twinge of compassion for her then. He welcomed it. It was a reminder that no one was without sin and screwups. Especially not him.

“I can appreciate that,” he said slowly, “and as I said, I’m flattered. But I don’t feel the same way.”

“Because of
her
,” Valerie said, her neck cords straining under her pearls. “Because of Betty.”

“Yes. I’m in love with her.” It felt incredible to admit it out loud. “I love Betty Lindholm.”

Valerie’s aquamarine eyes filled with tears. “I feel like I lose everything to her some days. Isn’t that silly? But I do. To a girl they used to call Bucky in high school. Did you know that? She was the beaver because of her teeth. They were awful. And Cole Anderson
still
picked her over me.”

Randall’s heart plummeted. He didn’t know that at all. He clenched his fists, wishing he could have known Betty back then and could have told her how beautiful she was.

“I know I shouldn’t be mad at her,” Valerie said, her voice choked, “but I can’t help it. She gets everything I want. Why is that? Because that’s a sermon I’d love to hear.”

“Surely she doesn’t get
everything
you want,” Randall said. “Does she?”

“No,” Valerie agreed, “it only feels that way sometimes.”

“Maybe,” Randall said, taking a step forward, “something to consider is how Betty simply is who she is. No pretense, no filter. You know what you’re getting with her.”

“What, and I’m some kind of enigma or something?”

“No, but some days it does seem like you’re hiding behind a veneer of some sort. Like, what would happen if you didn’t wear lipstick, for example? Or you wore flip-flops instead of heels? Maybe folks might want to see that side of you. Does that make sense?”

Valerie drew in a shaky breath. “I suppose it does,” she whispered, wiping a tear that had found its way down her cheek. “I think most days I’m just worried people won’t like me if they know who I really am. Like how I haven’t sold a house in a month, and I have a scar on my butt—seriously, right across both cheeks from a biking accident—and I have no idea what the difference is between a cabernet and a merlot.
None.
”

Randall grinned, unable to help himself. “That’s actually pretty endearing. I think that’s the kind of thing people want to hear more of. Not less.”

Valerie wiped her nose. “Seriously?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee anything, but just remember, everyone is thinking the exact same thing, okay? On some level we’re all insecure about who we are and what we feel.”

“Even you?” she asked.

“Especially me,” he admitted. And then, on a whim, he pulled up his sleeves. “I have tattoos,” he said. “I’ve always kept them hidden. But now I think maybe I’ll start showing them to people.”

Valerie’s gaze was wide. “I had no clue.”
“Yep. That was the general idea.”

She looked up at him with bleak remorse. “If I promise to be better—if I promise to try anyway—can I still be on the church board? I know I acted like a jerk with those signs, and I’m sorry. Truly. But I love this church. I really do.”

Randall pressed his fingertips together. Time would tell if Valerie was serious. Which was fine, because he could give the situation as much time as it needed.

“Let’s do this,” he said carefully. “Why don’t you take a leave of absence from the board and tell everyone you’re going to volunteer for some community organizations. And as part of that, you can ask Betty if you might volunteer to help her for, say, ten hours in her shop every week. I’m sure she’d welcome the extra pair of hands. But you’ll need to talk to her about it and make sure. That is, after you apologize to her directly.”

Valerie stiffened but nodded. “All right,” she said. She looked like she was going to go, but then paused.

“There’s something else you should know,” she said, picking nervously at the skin around her thumb. “I changed this morning’s bulletin. I took out the part about the church partnering with Betty.”

“You what?”

“You’ll have to announce it from the pulpit. I’m sorry, Randall. I’ve acted selfishly and stupidly. I’ll tell Betty the truth about what I’ve done. I promise. I’ll take full responsibility.”

There was a shuffling behind them, and they turned to see Celia in the doorway, pointing at her watch. “T-minus two minutes, Pastor,” she said. “The sanctuary is nearly full.”

He glanced at Valerie, whose face was streaked with fresh tears.

“Any chance you forgot to put out the bulletins?” he asked his secretary.

Celia raised her brows. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

For once, he wished his secretary wasn’t so competent. “No reason,” he said, wincing inwardly. What would Betty think when she sat down and saw the blank space where their partnership was supposed to be? She would think the deal had been revoked, and that “taking things slowly” was code for him not caring for her or her business.

That is, if she didn’t think that way already.

“Sorry again,” Valerie whispered, and turned to go. Celia followed her. Randall glanced furtively at the clock. One minute until he was going to stand in front of his entire congregation and he had nothing prepared. Not a single thing.