Page 1 of A Surefire Love
1
Pain had cascaded through generations of Astleys. Now at the helm of the family, Blazewouldstop the flow, even if it required her to face Anson Marsh on his home turf.
The cross protruding into the sky from the church served as a reminder that Blaze ought to feel as welcome here as anyone else—Anson included—but nervous energy flickered in her stomach as she parked. The sprawling building half-encircled the parking lot. Abundant windows, blank and straight-edged, stared out at her.
Blaze pulled her keys from the ignition of her twenty-year-old car and smoothed her hand over the leather steering wheel. Belying her luxury sedan’s age, the gleaming black paint and throaty growl normally acted as a portable confidence booster. One that wasn’t quite cutting it today.
“You’ve got this.”
Heat licked her cheeks. If she had this—or anything else—under control, she wouldn’t have had to set three alarmsto ensure she left work when necessary to arrive on time. But for Mercy’s sake, she couldn’t cower now.
She pushed open her door and stepped into the August heat. Insects hummed in the cornfield next door while vehicles whooshed along the highway.
She fixed her eyes on the cross and forced her feet onward.
As she neared, the glass door reflected her black jumpsuit. Maybe the stylish outfit was too much for Many Oaks, Iowa, where folks were about five years behind on trends. If Anson didn’t already know what he was dealing with, the clothes hinted at the truth about her. She was somehow too much and not enough all at once.
The door swung open, and the administrative assistant motioned her into the building. “He’s in his office.”
“Thanks.” Blaze crossed to the carpeted hallway. Her heart kicked faster the closer she came to the door with a placard that readAnson Marsh, Youth Pastor.
After a strangled attempt at a deep breath, she tapped on the door. The blond wood swung open, and she found herself eye-level with the hollow at the base of Anson’s throat, framed by the collar of his dark blue polo.
Pulse stuttering, she took a half-step back. His jaw and cheekbones cut distinct lines, but full cheeks and a round nose kept him from looking severe. His blue eyes held hers with startled attention, as if she’d surprised him.
Odd, since she’d made an appointment.
A corner of his irritatingly perfect mouth hooked upward, breaking the awkwardness. “Blaze. Right on time.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Of course.” He abandoned the door and lowered his six-foot-four frame into the leather office chair behind the desk.
He hadn’t invited her to sit, but she took the seat across from him and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Anson’s attention moved to her hand. She dropped the berry-colored tip of her long dark locks. She might not have chosen a red-tinged balayage if she’d known this meeting loomed in her future.
Anson met her eyes. “You wanted to talk about Rooted?”
“I’d like to help.”
His eyebrows notched closer together. “With the middle school youth group?”
She gave a single, firm nod. “As a leader. I heard you were shorthanded, and Mercy is starting middle school this fall.”
Anson tapped his thumbs together. “Didn’t you get a new job? You sure you want to put more on your plate?”
She smiled as though her promotion at Triumph Automotive was going as smoothly as she’d dreamed it would. “You have your job here, and you coach the basketball team. Those are bigger commitments than my job and youth group once a week.”
“Not if you factor in your side gig. And Rooted meets Wednesday nights.”
One of the nights Blaze sang with the house band at The Depot. “My boss says family’s the priority. We can shift our Wednesday performances to Thursday.”
“The whole band can make that change?”
“The Signalmen are supportive.” At least she hoped they would be. She’d only consulted Philip, her boss.
Anson frowned, and it couldn’t have been because of displeasure about her role with The Signalmen. In a few hours, he’d no doubt occupy his usual Monday-night table at the restaurant and music venue. He must just bedisappointed she’d eliminated another obstacle between her schedule and Rooted.
She touched the edge of his desk and forced enthusiasm into her voice. “Hey, with the switch, maybe you can catch even more of our shows.”
