Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(74)

“Can it really, Dave?”

“Trust me, Emily.” He sounded—he felt—as though he was begging. “In all the years we’ve been married, have I ever given you cause to doubt my integrity?”

She hesitated again. “No.”

“Well, then?”

“Until recently,” she amended.

“I don’t believe this!”

“Look at it from my perspective,” Emily said. “A little while ago you admitted we’re having financial difficulties, yet you didn’t respect me enough to tell me that.”

“I’ve apologized. And I took a part-time job to make ends meet,” he blurted out. The choir director was waiting and this conversation was putting him on edge.

“You’re out of sorts most of the time,” she added, “and I don’t know why.”

“You would be, too,” he snapped, “if you worked as many hours as I do. I’ve got people vying for my attention, tugging at me from every direction. Everyone wants something from me.”

“I thought you loved being a pastor.”

“I do. This is what God intended for me and I love my job, but there are times when the stress and the demands are more than any man should have to endure. And then factor in this second job…” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I love you, Emily, and I’m asking you to trust me.”

She didn’t respond.

“Is that so hard?”

“I wish you’d listen to reason,” she said quietly.

“Reason?” he echoed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who’s being unreasonable.”

“You’re in denial,” she asserted.

“Oh, stop it with the pop-psych nonsense. Denial.” He snorted.

“It’s not nonsense. You think if you sit back and do nothing,” she said, rushing her words, “you think if we keep our mouths shut, everything will blow over. The culprit will be uncovered and you’ll be off the hook without ever having to explain yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Dave argued. “What I want is to do my job. I want to tend my flock and deal with this ridiculous mess after Christmas.”

“Oh, Dave.”

“Emily, please bear with me. I can’t talk to Sheriff Davis yet, but I will. I give you my word of honor.”

There was a knock at the door. Dave closed his eyes and exhaled noisily. “Yes, Angel,” he called out.

His assistant opened the door, glancing apologetically toward Dave and Emily. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Dave assured her. “We were just finishing up.”

Angel stepped into the office. “I thought I should tell you the truck with the animal feed is here.”

“Here?” Dave groaned. “He’s supposed to deliver it to Cliff Harding’s place.” He would be forever grateful that the Hardings had agreed to house the animals.

“I know,” she said, “but the driver says he has to talk to you because the paperwork specifically states delivery’s to be made to this address.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a moment.”

“And Mrs. Stevenson’s in the sanctuary.”

The choir director prided herself on her punctuality and disliked being kept waiting. “Please tell her I’ll be with her in a moment,” Dave said.

Angel nodded and shut the door.

Dave turned to his wife. “We can discuss this later if you want.”

“What’s the point? You’ve already decided.” Emily snatched up the diamond earrings and dropped them back in her purse. Coming to her feet, she dashed to the door, but not before Dave saw the tears glistening in her eyes.

The problem was that Emily didn’t understand what she was asking of him. It broke his heart to fight with his wife and to flout her advice. There had to be a way to give her the peace of mind she needed—and stay out of jail at the same time.

Dave didn’t have a chance to talk to Emily again until much later that night. It was almost ten-thirty when he finally got home. After sorting out the confusion with the feed delivery and meeting with Mrs. S., he’d had to forgo supper to get to the bank on time. Following his shift, he’d grabbed a muffin at Mocha Mama’s. He walked silently into the house, first checking on his sons, who were both asleep. Emily didn’t look up when he stepped inside her workroom.

He was weary in body and exhausted in spirit, but Dave knew he had to make this right with his wife.

“Emily.” He spoke her name softly.

She sat at her sewing machine working on a quilt. The radio played Christmas music, but he doubted she was listening.

“Let’s talk,” he said, sitting on a chair next to her sewing desk. He reached out and stroked her knee.

“Have you changed your mind?” she asked. She slid aside to avoid his touch. “Are you willing to tell the sheriff what I found?”

“No.” He couldn’t cope with the consequences of such an action.

“Then we have nothing else to talk about.”

“Please listen to me, Em,” Dave pleaded. “I’ve been thinking over everything you said, and you have a valid point. If someone came across this information, it could be a problem.”