For the Love of God Read online

  Using the rag as a protective pad, he unscrewed the radiator cap. “I always carry a gallon jug of drinking water with me. Between it and a gallon of antifreeze-coolant in my trunk, we should be able to get you temporarily fixed up.”

  She shook her head in a gesture of bewildered amazement at how smoothly he was handling the breakdown. “I’m certainly glad you came along,” Abbie declared openly. “I thought I was going to have to walk to a phone, and this isn’t exactly the coolest day for walking, not to mention the tow charges you’re saving me. Thank you for stopping.”

  “Just being a Good Samaritan,” he replied, that easy smile coming again to his mouth.

  With the coolant, water, and tape from his car, he patched the hose and partially filled Mabel’s radiator. “The old gal ought to make it now,” he said as he closed the hood and made sure it was tightly latched.

  “It isn’t enough to say ‘thank you,’” Abbie insisted. “You not only fixed it but you used your tape and water and everything. Let me pay you for it.”

  He opened his mouth to refuse, then suddenly smiled. It seemed to take her breath away as her heart started thudding crazily. Love wasn’t something that happened at first sight but physical attraction could. It was often equally potent, however, and Abbie knew she was suffering from a severe case of it.

  “Were those fresh peaches I smelled in the sack on the car seat?” he asked instead.

  “Yes.” Abbie nodded while she studied the way the afternoon sun intensified the burnished gold color of his hair, antiquing it.

  “If you insist on paying me, I’ll take a couple of those peaches. Homegrown fruit has a taste all its own,” he said.

  “Okay, it’s a deal.” She laughed and walked to the passenger side to retrieve the sack through the opened car window. “Help yourself. You can have the whole sack. Grandmother Klein will just give me more next weekend.”

  “Two’s plenty.” He randomly picked two from the sack. “I’ll follow you into Eureka Springs to make sure you don’t have any more trouble with Mabel. I’ll be stopping there, and I advise that you stop at the first garage and get a new hose put on.”

  “I will.” It was a somewhat absentminded agreement, because her attention had been caught by his statement that he’d be stopping at Eureka Springs. “Eureka Springs is a quaint town. Will you be staying there awhile?”

  “Yes, I plan to,” he admitted, and she was conscious of his gaze running over her again.

  “You’ll like it,” she rushed, only half-aware that he had been going to say something else. As a rule, she didn’t socialize with summer tourists. A holiday romance was even more of a dead end than any other kind. But there was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to see this man again. “By the way, my name’s Abbie Scott. You’ve already met Mabel.”

  “Abbie? Short for Abra?” He arched an eyebrow.

  Abbie was dumbfounded. “How did you know that? Most people think my name is Abigail.”

  One muscled shoulder was lifted in an expressive shrug. “It just seemed appropriate. Abra was the favorite of Solomon in the Bible. A lucky guess.” He extended a hand to complete the introductions. “My name’s Talbot. Seth Talbot.”

  “That’s a biblical name, too.” Abbie was reluctant to admit she hadn’t known anything about her namesake. Since he seemed so knowledgeable about it, she didn’t want to reveal her ignorance.

  “Seth was the third son of Adam,” he informed her. “Not quite as well known as his older brothers, Cain and Abel.”

  “That’s true.” She smiled. Her hand tingled pleasantly in his firm clasp. He had very strong, capable hands, but they were relatively smooth, without the calluses of someone who made his living with them. It didn’t really surprise her. Despite his hard physique and craggy good looks, there was the definite impression of a man who relied on his mental prowess and innate air of command for his living.

  Then he was releasing her hand to gather up his empty jugs and roll of black tape. “If you start to have any trouble, just honk twice. I’ll be right behind you,” Seth Talbot assured her.

  “Okay.” She watched him walk along the grassy verge to his car and stow the things in the backseat.

  Oncoming traffic permitted her to observe him as he swung over the low passenger door and into the driver’s seat. Abbie waited until the road was clear to walk to the driver’s side of her car and open the door. She set the sack of peaches on the seat and pushed it over to slide behind the wheel.

  Mabel’s motor grumbled to life at the turn of the ignition key. As Abbie turned the car onto the highway she waved to the driver of the sports car. Within seconds, she saw the reflection of the dark green sports car in her rearview mirror, following a safe distance behind her.

  It was an older model car, but Abbie suspected it had been an expensive one. She tried to guess what kind of work he did, speculating that he could be a lawyer or maybe a doctor. If he was a salesman, he could sell her anything, she thought with a little laugh.

  The four miles to Eureka Springs seemed to flash by. Not once did Mabel even wink her red warning light. Abbie couldn’t make up her mind whether she was glad or sorry about that. Mechanical trouble would have given her an opportunity to find out more about Seth Talbot—essentials like where he was staying in Eureka Springs and some of the places he had planned to see while he was here.

  Abbie couldn’t believe the way she was thinking. She was actually considering chasing a man. There was nothing shy about her, but she didn’t classify herself as the aggressive type either. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if he kissed her. Seth Talbot had certainly captured her fancy in a short time. Or maybe it was simply a sign that she was finally cured of her distrust for men after that disappointing romance in Kansas City. That was probably closer to the truth.

  When Abbie turned her car into the service station-garage she patronized, there was a honk and a wave from the sports car before it sped on by. Abbie couldn’t contain the sigh of regret that slipped out. It would be sheer chance if she ever saw him again and she knew it.

  A portly, coverall clad man emerged from the service bay of the station and walked toward her car with an ambling gait. It was Kermit Applebaum, the owner of the establishment. He had serviced her parents’ vehicles ever since she was a freckle-faced toddler. Thankfully, the freckles had faded with the onset of maturity, but Kermit Applebaum still called her Freckles, a nickname no one else had picked up—and Abbie was eternally grateful for that.

  “Well, hello, Freckles,” he greeted her as she had expected, and Abbie tried not to wince. “How’s old Gladys doing?”

  “Her name is Mabel,” she corrected patiently, and stepped out of the car. “And Mabel has busted a radiator hose. I hope you have a spare one to fit her.”

  “I’ll rustle up something.” He wiped his greasy hands on a rag before he lifted the hood to have a look. “You didn’t do a bad job of patchin’ this.”

  “I can’t take the credit for that,” Abbie replied. “A tourist stopped when he saw I was broken-down and fixed it up for me, then followed me into town to be sure I made it.”

  “That fella that just honked at you?” the owner-mechanic asked with some surprise. When she nodded affirmatively his expression became thoughtful. “I thought it was just some guy tryin’ to make time with you. I guess I did him a disservice.” He closed the hood with a decisive shove and turned to Abbie. “Drive your car over to that empty bay, and I’ll see what I’ve got for hoses to fit it.”

  In all, it took the better part of two hours before he had it fixed with interruptions from customers and phone calls. It was nearly suppertime when Abbie turned her trusty car onto a winding street for home.

  Her hometown of Eureka Springs was filled with quaint charm. The restored and refurbished Victorian structures clinging to the steep hills gave the city an ambience of the past, a nostalgic flavor. Some visitors considered it an oddity in the middle of the Ozarks, but Abbie had always regard
ed it as home. It had been dubbed “The Little Switzerland of America” because of the combination of its architecture and steep terrain and had been a highly popular vacation resort since the turn of the century. Then, its appeal had been as a spa. Now, it was the town itself and its many gift, antique, and craft shops. There was even a trolley car to ease the weary feet of those unprepared for the endlessly winding streets.

  And during the tourist season, people came by the thousands to see The Great Passion Play, an outdoor drama of Christ’s last days, and to view the seven-story statue of Christ of the Ozarks. There were other religious attractions, too, including the Bible Museum, the Christ Only Art Gallery, and the New Holy Land with its life-size recreations of scenes from the Bible.

  As much as Abbie loved her hometown and its picturesque buildings and Ozark Mountain setting, living in a town that had essentially changed little since the turn of the century had its disadvantages. Abbie became as irritated as the next motorist on city streets that were not designed to handle a lot of modern vehicle traffic. And there weren’t any traffic lights, which meant relying on the courtesy of another driver in the case of making turns onto main thoroughfares or off of them.

  In the summer, when the visitors came by the hundreds, she griped along with everyone else at the traffic tie-ups, but she still loved it. Maybe it was because she was like the town—a little out-of-date and out-of-step with the times—proud and old-fashioned.

  All her girl friends were married, and most of them had children. She had given up a promising career and come back to—what? To fantasize about a stranger who stopped to help?

  Climbing roses spilled over the fan-shaped trellises that marked the driveway of her parents’ home with its gingerbread trim. The old carriage-house-turned-garage sat at the side, literally built into the hill. Her father’s car was already inside the garage. Since there was only room for one and the weather couldn’t hurt Mabel’s appearance, Abbie always parked outside.

  This time she stopped near the back door of the two-and-a-half story white house. Her cupboards were already filled with jars of goods from Grandmother Klein. She knew the elderly woman wouldn’t mind if her granddaughter gave some of the food and home-canned goods to the woman’s daughter and son-in-law. It certainly made more sense to divide it now than carry it all up a flight of stairs to her apartment, then back down to the house.

  Without bothering to knock at the back door, Abbie walked into the kitchen with an armload of jars. The rush of air-conditioned coolness hit her, and she paused to savor the relief from the outside heat.

  A tall, auburn-haired woman turned away from the stove where the evening meal was cooking to look at Abbie. There was a definite resemblance between mother and daughter with minor differences. Alice Scott was pencil-thin, with eyes that were more green than hazel. “You and Mother must have had quite a visit today,” she remarked. “She isn’t ill or anything?”

  “No.” Abbie walked to the breakfast table and carefully set the jars down. “I busted a radiator hose on the way home. I’ve been over at Kermit’s for the last two hours getting it repaired.”

  “I don’t see what keeps that car together at all,” her mother replied with a wry shake of her head.

  The unmistakable sound of her father running down the steps and whistling a tuneless song echoed into the kitchen. In a few things, her father was very predictable. One of them was his routine after a day at the office. He immediately changed into a pair of khaki pants and either a cotton plaid shirt in the summer or a bedraggled maroon pullover sweater in the winter upon coming home from the office.

  True to his pattern, he entered the kitchen in the plaid shirt and khaki pants. He sniffed at the food cooking on the stove. “Smells good, honey.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and walked to the refrigerator for a beer. “When do we eat?” Then he saw Abbie standing by the table. “I thought we pushed that one out of the nest. Here she is back at mealtime with her mouth open.”

  “There’s plenty,” her mother assured her as she turned the sizzling pork chops in the skillet. “Why don’t you have supper with us?”

  “Not tonight, Mom. Thanks just the same.” Abbie refused because it would be too easy to fall into the habit of eating her meals at home. She had become used to living on her own and liked the measure of independence the small apartment above the garage gave her.

  “You’re too stubborn,” her father accused, but he grudgingly admired her streak of independence, too.

  “I get it from you,” she retorted.

  “You can have Sunday dinner with us tomorrow.” It wasn’t an invitation from her mother; it was a statement. “It will be nice for all three of us to attend church together again.”

  Her father cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Abe said something about going fishing tomorrow. I meant to mention that to you the other day.”

  “Drew Fitzgerald Scott, you are going to church.” Her mother shook a fork at him. “It’s the last time Reverend Augustus will be conducting the services. He’s retiring.”

  “Hallelujah!” Her father raised a hand in the air in mock rejoicing.

  “Drew.” Her mother’s voice held a warning note.

  “I never did like the man,” he reminded her. “I’m not going to be sorry to see him retire. If I go to church with you tomorrow, you can be sure I’ll be sitting in that pew rejoicing.”

  “Not ‘if,’” Alice Scott corrected. “You are going. And you’re going to attend the farewell tea our ladies’ club is giving him and Mrs. Augustus tomorrow afternoon.”

  His glance slid to Abbie, an impish light dancing in his brown eyes. “Are you going?”

  “Yes, she’s going.” Her mother answered for her.

  Abbie lifted her shoulders in a shrug that said the decision had been taken out of her hands. “You heard her, Dad.” A smile widened her mouth. “I’m going.”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice either,” he replied affably, then took a deep, sighing breath. “I just hope we don’t get another ‘hell and damnation’ minister. I like to go to church and be inspired, not threatened.” He leaned a hip against the butcher-block table in the middle of the sunny yellow kitchen. “What about it, Mother? What’s the word on our new minister?”

  Her mother switched off the burner under the skillet and paused. “I don’t remember anyone discussing him in specifics, except that he’s supposed to be highly qualified.” She seemed surprised that her information was so scanty. “But we’ll meet him and his family tomorrow. Reverend Augustus will be introducing them to the congregation, and I’m sure they’ll attend the tea. You’ll be able to draw your own conclusions.”

  With that subject apparently closed, Abbie had the chance to ask the question that had been buzzing around in her mind since this afternoon. “Mom, what made you choose the name Abra for me? Does it have any special meaning?”

  “That’s a strange question to ask after all these years,” her mother declared with a faint laugh. “One of my girl friends had an aunt by that name and I liked it. Why?”

  “I just found out Abra was the name of Solomon’s favorite wife in the Bible. I guess I wondered if you had known that.” Abbie shrugged.

  “How interesting.” Her mother looked pleasantly surprised. “Who told you this?”

  “A tourist who stopped to help me when Mabel broke down—” Abbie didn’t have a chance to complete the sentence in its entirety.

  “What’s this about Mabel breaking down?” her father interrupted.

  And Abbie explained again about the busted radiator hose and her delay getting it fixed at the garage. By the time she had finished answering—or trying to answer—all his mechanical questions, her mother was dishing up their evening meal. Abbie refused a second invitation to join them and left the house to carry the bounty from her grandmother up to her apartment.

  Chapter Two

  The incessant pounding roused Abbie from her sleep. She rolled over with a groan and buried her head und
er the pillow, but she couldn’t drown it out. Whoever was doing all that hammering should be put in jail for making so much noise on a Sunday morning, she thought.

  Sunday morning. There wasn’t anyone hammering, she realized. Someone was knocking on her door. Abbie threw aside the pillow and tossed back the covers to sit up in the single bed. The grogginess of sleep blurred her eyes as she grabbed for the robe draped over the foot of the bed.

  “I’m coming!” she called while she hurriedly tried to pull on her robe, but she wasn’t too coordinated.

  Her alarm clock sat on the oak dresser, far enough from the bed so she would be forced to get up to turn it off. Abbie peered at it. The hour hand pointed to one. Sunshine was streaming through the bedroom window. It surely didn’t mean it was one o’clock in the afternoon! With a groan she realized the clock had stopped. She must have forgotten to wind it last night.

  It was obviously late, but Abbie had no idea what time it was. She hurried through the main room of her loft apartment, which included a living room, dining room, and kitchen, to the staircase door. As she opened it she lifted the weighty mass of auburn-gold hair away from her face.

  Her father stood outside, dressed in a suit and tie. His gaze wandered over her while a smile deepened the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think that’s exactly the proper attire for church,” he observed.

  “My clock stopped.” Abbie didn’t mention that she had forgotten to wind it. “What time is it?” Her voice still contained the husky thickness of sleep.

  “There’s about ten minutes before the church service starts. Is that any help?” he asked with an amused slant to his mouth.

  “I can’t get ready in five minutes,” Abbie groaned. “You and Mother will just have to go without me.”

  A rueful expression added lines to his face. “She isn’t going to be too happy about that,” he warned Abbie but not without understanding. “Too bad I didn’t think of it.” A boyish grin showed.