Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(9)

“If you do, it’ll be to say I didn’t get the job.”

He was quiet a moment, then he said, “Have some pie. Nobody makes pie like Preacher.”

“Preacher? You made the pie?”

“No, the cook—he goes by the nickname Preacher. That could lead to problems.” He nodded toward the plate. “Try it.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Give it a chance, you’ll be amazed. And between bites, tell me why I don’t get the benefit of the doubt.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she took a bite of blackberry pie. She chewed and swallowed, but clearly the ambrosia of Preacher’s pie was lost on her. After one bite, she put down the fork and her hands went back into her lap. Noah had to concentrate to focus on her eyes. That cle**age was killing him. “No hard feelings,” she said quietly. “I haven’t had much luck in the job market lately. I think it’s made me a little cranky.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” he asked, digging into his pie.

“Anything proper,” she said. “It’s like I said, it’s for my kids.”

“And they’ll benefit from their mom having a proper job?”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Look, it’s kind of personal—my kids are going through a hard time. I don’t think I should talk about it. No way I want people to know all that stuff…”

Noah considered this for a second and against his better judgment he said, “If you feel like talking about it, Ellie, you can trust me with a confidence.”

“How can I be sure of that?” she asked with a lift of one eyebrow.

He sat back and smirked. “I’m a minister. I took Secret Keeping 101.”

“But you’re not my minister,” she reminded him. “It’s all pretty messy.”

“And of course I never hear anything messy in this job,” he said sarcastically. “I don’t mean to pry. I was just offering you a chance to—”

“I lost my kids,” she blurted. “My ex-husband filed for custody and got it. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. I was dancing in a club where some of the girls take off their clothes sometimes.” She shrugged. “Not sometimes—all the time. They think the more they’re willing to take off, the better the tips, and that was usually true.” She swallowed and looked away, her eyes threatening to fill again. “My tips were about average.”

“You were an exotic dancer?” he asked.

She looked back at him. “There was nothing exotic about it.”

Truthfully, she looked like someone who’d be more than comfortable taking it off. Noah was hardly shocked; while he was working his way through seminary, he had a casual little ministry down on the docks. His best customers were bums, strippers, homeless people, addicts and others.

“Are they okay with their dad?” Noah asked with as much sensitivity as possible.

The question got an instant reaction out of her. Her face became angry and hard, erasing some of the youthful beauty buried under too much makeup. “He’s not their dad. He was their stepdad for less than three months, and this isn’t about giving them a good life, it’s about holding them hostage. He wants me, that’s what he wants. I dated him for quite a while and I thought he was a nice, normal guy, but he’s not. He’s weird, abusive, mean and controlling, so we got out.

“After we left him, I found myself a real nice setup—I rented half a duplex next to a great lady who could keep the kids at night while I worked. I needed the sitter, she needed the extra money and we had a good arrangement. She was super to the kids, they hardly knew I was gone. I fixed dinner and left at six, she got their baths, read with them and put them to bed, then she’d nod off on the couch till I got home. It was one of the first times I could afford both the rent and the babysitting on just one job. But Arnie wanted us back. He doesn’t like it when things don’t go his way. Taking my kids away from me was the only thing he could think of. He’s one of those people who has to be in charge all the time. In control.”

Noah’s fork was frozen in midair. After all that, all he could say was, “Abusive?”

“Mean,” she said. “He doesn’t hit, but he’s real rigid, demanding as hell and says hurtful things. You don’t like what’s on your plate, you go to bed hungry after you’re called a whole bunch of names. You don’t snap to attention, and you’re called stupid and idiot. Don’t rinse the dishes and wipe the table just perfect, you go to bed without stories or playtime. There’s no TV in the house, no talking at the table, no playing outside unless an adult is standing over you. No sleeping together—that’s dirty.” Her eyes watered. “Trevor is only four! And even when I did manage to get a place where they had their own room, they were always crawling in with me! It’s what kids do!”

Noah couldn’t move. She was pushing some buttons he didn’t feel like having pushed. He started hearing his father’s voice. What do I ask of you besides respect and decency? You have to learn discipline and restraint for your own good before you’re completely lost! No dessert/football/summer camp/TV/friends/et cetera et cetera et cetera!

Her voice lowered and calmed. “Danielle is only eight, and she’s expected to make sure everything is perfectly tidy and clean. And if it isn’t exactly how he wants it, which she’s just too young to do, he calls her names and takes away privileges.” Her laugh had a hollowing. “They’re not things I call privileges—like dinner? Like reading before bed? A privilege? I call it a necessity. How’s Danielle going to grow up smarter than me if she doesn’t get to read?”