Page 49 of A Twist of Faith
An engine rumbled at the front of the house. Dee pushed Haus out the back door onto the covered porch, just as a knock came to the front. “I’ll never hear the end of it if they know I’ve let you inside, boy.”
She eased her walk across the house, taking a deep breath before opening the front door.
Reese met her, beard trimmed, and a white oxford tucked into a pair of dark jeans. Good heavens, her thoughts dipped into areas inappropriate for church—whether God read her mind or not.
Reese gave her a healthy, painfully slow appraisal before adding a whistle at the end. “Well, Doc, you sure do clean up well.”
The unshackled admiration in his gaze brought heat to her face, and the whistle fanned the flame. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Mitchell.”
“I’m wearing a button-up shirt and there isn’t a wedding.” He tipped his head closer, voice purring an octave lower. “Youmustbe pretty special.”
Her face spiked to feverish temperatures. “I see it as a good sign for things to come, don’t you?”
“Do you think it will help me act fancier too?”
“I’m not sure if the clothes truly make the man, Mr. Mitchell.” She snatched her purse and lifted a brow. “But if you use the techniques I’ve taught you, I’m certain you are less likely to offend God’s ears with your prayers.”
He laughed and held the door for her to exit. His appearance paired with his scent nearly had her swooning.Cedar and spice and everything nice.She cast a look toward heaven and shook her head. If God could see everything, then her heated thoughts added another failure to her list. Well, one thing was for certain: Reese Mitchell would be a much-needed distraction from the guilt-laden sermon awaiting her. God hadn’t been interested in her as a fourteen-year-old crying for help. Why would He be interested now?
Chapter 10
The hardest job I ever tackled, make no mistake about that, mother… (Pygmalion, Act 3)
Maybe Dee wasn’t such an idiot at child therapy. After adding more research with Rainey’s tips, she not only had fun but the kids did too. Finding words posted on the walls of a dark room with a flashlight kept them engaged and begging for more. A scavenger hunt for words instead of thirty minutes of forced repetition proved to be more resourceful with time, effective, and enjoyable for everyone. A little miracle in her life.
Good planning mixed with play really worked. Who knew? One of the children even gave her a hug on the way out. Why had she talked herself into disliking kids? She hadn’t been around them very much growing up, so lack of practice bred some insecurity, but how had the general negative decisions become so ingrained?
Her father disliked kids. No one knew, of course. He’d smile and talk to them when they came near, but afterward he’d complain about their loudness and make comments aboutpeople who work with children do so because they can’t work anywhere else.
But it wasn’t true.
Why hadn’t she seen his inconsistencies before? Did the Mitchells bring out the comparison? Her father’s truth wasn’t truth at all?
Church on Sunday sparked more doubts.The God of lost things?In her fourteen years of church visits, she’d never heard the story of the lost sheep or the lost coin. Unshed tears burned her eyes as she recalled the preacher’s words. Or the lost son.
The thought of the son coming home to his father whispered through her barren soul and urged her to reconsider her previous assumptions. Had her father influenced such prejudice? Perhaps that possibility frightened her the most. Had her entire life been built on faulty vision?
Uncertainty pierced like a blade, slicing one memory and conversation after another. What if she gave into the new hope Mitchell’s Crossroads offered? What if she even reassessed her ideas about God?
When she’d walked into Mrs. Mitchell’s house after church, birthday balloons and laughter all around, the tiny taste of beingfoundrattled her senses. How long did it take the lost son to realize his lostness?
She couldn’t shake the questions, even as the rich warmth of mocha, cinnamon, and pumpkin bread enveloped her with one step into Daphne’s. Her entire body relaxed into the decadent aroma—carb-therapy at its finest. She passed an old-fashioned counter lined with various local novelties, like hillbilly sticks, and then beyond a display case revealing a myriad of delectables. Her anxiety subsided with each step deeper into the fragrance of baked bread and melted butter. Visiting Daphne’s was therapeutic … and needed to happen more often.
“Well, hi there, Doc.” Emma scrunched up her nose with a perfect princess smile. “Did you notice the baguettes and Focaccia bread? Aunt Daphne’s letting me try out some of my chef skills on the locals.” She shook with excitement. “I’m in my second year of classes and absolutely loving it, but it’s going to be a hard sale for my aunt.” Emma lowered her voice to a whisper, exuding enough energy to light the restaurant. “She has theif-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-itmentality.” She blinked back to attention. “Hungry?”
“With smells like this, it’s impossible not to be.”
Emma’s wink held the same mischief as Reese’s. “Aunt Daphne’s secret ingredient to keeping this place at the top of the Blue Ridge hot spots. De-licious food. One step in and a sample of homemade goodness satisfies every time.”
“What do you suggest? I’m on my way up to Reese’s for another speech session. Maybe I could take something to the kids?” She bit her bottom lip and tried not to appear too obvious. “And what might Reese like?”
Emma’s smile inverted but still flickered at the corners of her eyes, in true pixie form. “I don’t know if you want to do that, Doc. Reese has been awful sick since the day of the picnic.”
“What? He hasn’t called me about it?” Of course, why would he? They weren’t dating or anything.
“Well, I think he’s been way too crummy to chat.” Emma shook her head slowly. “Mama said something about dizziness and a bad cough. Sounds pretty rough.”
“Dizziness? Does he have a fever? Has he been to the doctor?” Dee pressed her palms against the counter. “Does he need anything?”
