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Gabriel's Discovery
Felicia Mason


Susan Carter has her hands full raising twins and running the Galilee Women's Shelter - she doesn't need darkly handsome pastor Gabriel Dawson complicating her life.But she can't avoid him, not after she opens his eyes to the plight of the battered women in his parish, whose drug-addicted men are connected to the Venezuelan cartel La Mano Oscura and the Diablo crime syndicate.Spending time with Gabriel, when he's her auctioned "date” and again with her daughters, shows Susan both the gentleness and protectiveness of the former marine. And once Susan's daughters decide that they want Gabriel as their new daddy, what else is there for a man of God to do…but become a family man?









Gabriel watched Susan Carter embrace her daughters. The scene filled him with longing….


For all his talk about being willing to wait for a wife and family that would eventually come, the fact of the matter was simple: Gabriel Dawson was lonely.

Not the sort of loneliness that made people do irrational and potentially dangerous things. He instead suffered from the same affliction that plagued a lot of single people his age: the “no one to talk to at the end of the day” blues.

That just wasn’t the sort of thing a single minister liked to broadcast, particularly given the matchmaking penchant of some of his parishioners.



FAITH ON THE LINE:

Two powerful families wage war on evil…and find love.

ADAM’S PROMISE—

Gail Gaymer Martin (LI #259)

FINDING AMY—

Carol Steward (LI #263)

GABRIEL’S DISCOVERY—

Felicia Mason (LI #267)

REDEEMING TRAVIS—

Kate Welsh (LI #271)

PETER’S RETURN—

Cynthia Cooke (LI #275)

PROTECTING HOLLY—

Lynn Bulock (LI #279)




FELICIA MASON


is a motivational speaker and award-winning author. She’s a two-time winner of the Waldenbooks BestSelling Multicultural Title Award, has received awards from Romantic Times, Affaire de Coeur and Midwest Fiction Writers, and won the Emma Award in 2001 for her work in the bestselling anthology Della’s House of Style. Glamour magazine readers named her first novel, For the Love of You, one of their all-time favorite love stories, and her novel Rhapsody was made into a television film.

Felicia has been a writer as long as she can remember, and loves creating characters who seem as real as your best friends. A former Sunday school teacher, she makes her home in Virginia, where she enjoys quilting, reading, traveling and listening to all types of music. She can be reached at P.O. Box 1438, Dept. SH, Yorktown, VA 23692.




Gabriel’s Discovery

Felicia Mason








For my FAITH ON THE LINE editors and sister authors:

Carol, Cynthia, Diane, Gail, Kate, Krista, Lynn


To God belong wisdom and power; counsel and understanding are His…. He reveals the deep things of darkness and brings deep shadows into the light.

—Job 12:13 and 22




Cast of Characters


Susan Carter—The widowed single mom is busy running the Galilee Women’s Shelter and raising twins. She doesn’t have time for romance…until she meets the new pastor.

Gabriel Dawson—Good Shepherd’s new pastor is tall, dark and handsome, setting the hearts of many female parishioners aflutter. But he only has eyes for one woman.

Hannah and Sarah Carter—Susan’s six-year-old twins want a daddy, and they’ve found the perfect man for the job!

Evie—The battered woman in expensive clothes who’d arrived at the shelter one night brought more danger than anyone had expected.

Frank Montgomery—The mayor of Colorado Springs joins Gabriel in a city-wide prayer vigil to pray for peace in his troubled city.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader




Chapter One


Gabriel Dawson definitely had a way with the ladies.

From her vantage point standing near a booth selling warm kettle corn, Susan Carter watched the minister work the crowd. Every gray-haired matron at the annual Labor Day picnic in the park managed to find her way to Gabriel. And with good reason.

The Reverend Gabriel Dawson, M. Div., former marine and current pastor of Good Shepherd Christian Church, undoubtedly claimed a spot as one of Colorado Springs’s most eligible bachelors.

Every one of those mamas and grandmamas fawning over him knew it, too. In the time since she’d started her vigil, Susan had spied more than one matron slip the minister a business card or a photo, undoubtedly with full dossiers printed in miniature listing the many and varied accomplishments of their single daughters, granddaughters and nieces.

For just a moment, Susan considered approaching him about participating in the fund-raiser for the women’s shelter. The event could use a bachelor in the auction who would guarantee active and high bidding. Her friend and co-worker Jessica Mathers had already secured a number of impressive date packages for the gala that would benefit the Galilee Women’s Shelter. If he’d agree to it, Gabriel Dawson sure would be an attractive addition.

She assessed him. Handsome didn’t even come close to describing the man.

Tall, at least six-three, and muscular, Gabriel was a big man who inspired confidence just by looking at him. Though named for the archangel devoted to God, the penetrating black eyes and well-groomed shadow beard and mustache of this earthly Gabriel gave him dark good looks.

No, Susan decided. When she called on the good reverend to lend his support to her cause, it wouldn’t be for a one-night gig enjoyed only by a single highest bidder. She wanted far more from him than a smile and to see that powerful physique decked out in black-tie.

But my, my, my what a sight that would be.

Suddenly a little warm, Susan fanned herself with one of the programs distributed at the picnic entrance. She had to remember to stay focused on the mission. Reverend Dawson couldn’t be a date for the shelter’s fund-raiser. That would never do because Susan wanted something more from him—she was in the market for a long-term commitment.



From the corner of his eye, Gabriel watched Susan Carter scoping him out. She’d been at it for a while now, and he was mighty curious about what she was thinking.

“And I just think it would be wonderful to have you over for dinner after church this Sunday, Pastor.”

“Yes, that sounds lovely,” he answered Mrs. Hardy with a pat to the elderly woman’s hand. With most of his attention on Susan, Gabriel lent just half an ear to sweet Mrs. Hardy, a longtime member of the church.

“We eat at four o’clock,” she said. “And my lovely granddaughter Samantha will be visiting that day from Denver. Won’t that be nice? She’s a doctor, you know. A pediatrician. She loves children.”

The not-so-subtle hint and definite accent on that last part gave him pause.

With a sinking feeling, Gabriel turned his full attention to Mrs. Hardy. Had he just agreed to have dinner with her and her family, including someone named Samantha?

By necessity, in his nine months at Good Shepherd, he’d gotten rather adept at avoiding the obvious setups from his parishioners. It seemed they all wanted to see him walking down the aisle with a bride they could claim as first lady of the church. He wasn’t the first pastor of color for the diverse congregation, but he was the first single one they’d ever had. His lack of a spouse apparently didn’t sit well with some. They wanted to see their pastor happily married, and from the look of things the last few months, there existed a never-ending supply of would-be brides.

The only problem with the plans laid out for him by others was that Gabriel had no intention of getting married that way. He firmly and steadfastly believed that a wife and children were in his future, but it would be in God’s time. He would be equally yoked with the woman the Lord designated for him, not one offered up like a sacrificial lamb or an item at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

To date, he’d been presented with a dizzying array of blondes, brunettes and redheads of all shapes, sizes and ethnic backgrounds, from athletic tomboys to full-figured models. Counted in the number were teachers and lawyers, a florist, an Olympic gymnast, even a bestselling romance author.

For Gabriel, though, what a woman did for a living and what her outer package looked like didn’t matter nearly as much as her inside.

Did she have a one-on-one relationship with God? Was she a prayer warrior, someone who understood the power of prayer? Did she put her faith and her walk with the Lord above all else? Those things mattered to Gabriel.

Once before, he’d almost made the mistake of marrying to please others. The engagement to Mikki Metz had lasted all of six weeks before they both realized they were about to make a really big mistake.

No, siree, he thought as he nodded at Mrs. Hardy. He’d dodged bullets and land mines in the first Gulf War; surely he could dodge a few well-meaning matchmaking members of his congregation.

But first, it looked like he’d be having dinner at Mrs. Hardy’s home on Sunday afternoon.

“You won’t forget now, will you, Pastor Gabriel?”

He smiled at the dear old lady, who was all of four foot eleven. “I won’t. I’ll make a note of it in my appointment book.”

She beamed up at him. “Wonderful. I’m sure you and Samantha will have a lot to talk about. You have very much in common.”

Gabriel doubted it, but kept that thought to himself as Mrs. Hardy bid him farewell for the afternoon.

Two more members of Good Shepherd, both of whom had single daughters, were making a beeline for him. Gabriel wasn’t a coward by any stretch of the imagination, but today he decided retreat was, indeed, the better part of valor.

His gaze drifted to Susan Carter. Now, there stood a woman he could appreciate. Her bright smile and corkscrew curls appealed to him. Finding out why she seemed so interested in him today was preferable to sidestepping another offer of pot roast and apple pie.



Susan watched him duck and evade the latest salvos. As she turned to check on her girls, she smiled, first at the minister’s efforts to get away from his members, then at the antics of her twins. They, along with several other children, ran around the church lawn chasing a multicolored wind sock held high and circled overhead by the church’s youth minister.

She felt more than heard Gabriel approach.

“It’s all your fault,” he said softly. His voice, a rich tenor with just a smidgen of something southern lingering in the accent, washed over her, doing things it shouldn’t…like making her wish she didn’t have a bone to pick with him.

“I beg your pardon?”

Gabriel Dawson stood right next to her, almost crowding her personal space.

“It’s your fault I now have a Sunday dinner engagement. You distracted me.”

A part of Susan thrilled at his words. To make that claim, he had to have been watching her as closely as she watched him. But that, of course, was ridiculous. Susan knew the caliber of women who were after him—women who had a lot more going for them than being a single mother and the widow of a drug addict who didn’t even have a home she could call her own.

Then she saw the teasing light in his eyes, the twitch of a grin at his mouth and she had to laugh in response.

“Well, if all it takes is somebody looking at you to get you distracted, Reverend, you might need a few lessons in how to focus.”

“And are you teaching those classes?”

Susan blinked. Was he flirting with her?

Before she had the chance to decide, Hannah and Sarah ran up. Breathless, the twins tried to talk over each other.

“There’s a juggler!”

“Can we go?”

“It’s right over there.”

“Ooh, look, he’s starting!”

“Whoa, ladies,” Susan said, putting an arm around the shoulders of each girl. They were decked out in identical sweatshirts, jeans and sneakers. “Did you forget something?”

The six-year-olds spared a moment to look up. “Hi, Pastor Gabriel,” they said, their voices echoing off each other. “Can we go now, Mom? Pleeease.”

Susan nodded and the twins jumped up and down.

“Hold hands,” Susan called to their backs, the girls already heading across the lawn to a spot where a juggler on stilts had begun to perform in front of an excited crowd of children and teenagers.

Laughing, Gabriel watched Susan’s daughters holding hands as they ran, long beaded braids flying behind. “Your daughters are a delight, Mrs. Carter.”

“More like a handful,” she said. “And why don’t you call me Susan.”

“I will,” he said with a smile.

Susan spent a moment regretting that he wouldn’t be one of the bachelors up for auction at the fund-raising gala the following weekend. Forget the fantasy dates Jessica had set up; she’d make a generous donation to her own cause just to watch this man smile.

“Only if you’ll call me Gabriel.”

“It’s a deal,” she said. “Though I’m not in the habit of calling clergy members by their first names.”

“Then don’t think of me as clergy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to accomplish that?” Like a game-show hostess displaying the grand prize for correctly answering the bonus-round question, she swept her hand in front of her. “Look at this. We’re at your church’s annual Labor Day picnic. The church is right over there with your name displayed—in rather large letters, I might say.” The church with its stained glass windows was a centerpiece in the neighborhood.

Gabriel chuckled. “I had nothing to do with that sign.”

A huge red-and-white banner welcomed members and friends to the church picnic. Gabriel’s name was printed almost as big as the church’s.

“Do you mind if we stroll that way? I want to keep an eye on the girls.” She didn’t wait for his answer, but started moving in the direction of the entertainer so she could see Hannah and Sarah.

“They’re identical,” Gabriel said. “How do you tell them apart?”

“I’m the mom, I’m supposed to.”

“I bet you get that a lot with twins.”

Susan’s answer got interrupted.

“Hey, Pastor Gabriel. Wait!” The kettle corn vendor ran around his booth with a big bag of the sweetly flavored popcorn in hand. “Here you go. For you and your pretty lady.”

Susan flushed and found herself grateful that her dark skin concealed most of the blush. Gabriel glanced at her and smiled, but he didn’t correct the concessionaire.

He instead dug in his pocket for money, but the vendor shook his head.

“No charge, Pastor. We just want to thank you for letting us set up shop here this year. Business has been great all day. The missus and I are gonna come to one of your services this Sunday.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gabriel said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll look for you. And we’re pleased to have you with us today.” He nodded toward two couples who approached with money at the ready for kettle corn. “Looks like you have some more business headed your way.” He lifted the bag of popcorn. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Reverend. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” the vendor said to Susan, who simply smiled.

Gabriel offered the bag to Susan. She opened her mouth to ask him why he hadn’t disabused the man of the notion that they were a couple, then decided that to call attention to it would only be…what? More embarrassing? So instead of saying anything, she accepted some of the treat he presented.

“Mmm. This is good.” She looked back at the booth. The vendor waved and she waved back. “I’ll have to remember to get some for the girls.”

As they strolled across the lawn, several people called out to either Susan or Gabriel as they passed.

“You’re quite a celebrity here,” he said. “It seems like everyone knows you.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

He gave her an odd look, and Susan regretted the challenging tone she’d taken with him.

Then he smiled. “No. I like strong women.”




Chapter Two


Susan hid a smile by taking another nibble of popcorn.

“I’m actually glad you came over,” she said. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Hi there, Pastor Gabriel,” said a man who touched the brim of his Denver Broncos cap in greeting as he passed. “Great picnic.”

“Thanks, nice seeing you, John.”

“You’re the popular one,” Susan observed.

Good Shepherd Christian Church’s Labor Day picnic had grown into something of a tradition for members of the congregation as well as the community. The church stocked what seemed like an endless supply of hot dogs, hamburgers, chips and soft drinks. Picnic-goers could then purchase other treats, like kettle corn and cotton candy, or T-shirts and other mementos from vendors set up on two sides of the church’s lawn. Entertainment and games claimed the other. From horseshoes to volleyball, the picnic included a little something for everyone.

The afternoon would close with a concert by a popular Christian recording artist. Most people would later make their way downtown for the city’s big fireworks display.

“New preacher giving away free food,” Gabriel said. “What’s not to like?”

Susan chuckled. “The hard times will come later, huh?”

“Like death and taxes. So, you said you wanted to speak with me about something.”

Enjoying the light moments with him, Susan found herself reluctant to end the easy companionship, but she had business to tend to, business that directly involved Reverend Dawson.

He was popular and bright. That’s why she didn’t understand why in all his outreach efforts to date, he hadn’t stopped by or inquired about Galilee.

“You’ve been here almost a year now,” she said.

Gabriel nodded. “Nine months.”

“You’ve done a lot in the community. I’ve seen your name on several boards and you’ve started a couple of outreach ministries.”

He glanced at her. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming.”

Susan had the grace to smile. “But you’ve missed a big pocket of the community.”

They’d reached the edge of the entertainment area where the juggler on stilts tossed six wooden pins in the air. Susan spotted her girls, who had somehow managed to creep to the front of the semicircle.

“And what pocket is that?”

“Women in need.”

He looked at her then, wondering if he should read a dual message in her comment. “What, specifically, do you mean?”

“I’d like to show you our facility,” she said. “Why don’t you stop by the Galilee shelter and let me show you around?”

“You’re the director there, right?”

Susan nodded.

“I’d be glad to put it in my book,” he told her. “I’ll have Karen schedule it. Maybe I’ll stop by in a couple of months. What I’ve been trying to do first is get a feel for the larger community, some of the broader issues that have the biggest impact not only on members of Good Shepherd, but the people who live in the area that the church serves.”

Susan bristled at his implication that abused women didn’t rank very high on his priority or impact list.

That was the problem she had with him. Her goal today was to get him to commit to visiting the shelter. Once he saw for himself the work that was done there, she hoped he’d make a long-term commitment to the shelter’s mission.

On several occasions, her director of development had tried to get an appointment with him, but either his secretary always brushed Jessica off or her calls went unanswered. So, as director of the women’s shelter, Susan took matters in her own hands. She’d brought her girls to the picnic so they could have some fun, but her job today was to waylay the good reverend and make him see the error of his neglectful ways—at least where Galilee Women’s Shelter was concerned.

“Reverend Dawson, I think you’ll change your mind when you see what we’re doing at Galilee.”

“You’re not going to stop until I say yes, are you.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” she said.

He smiled. “All right, then. I will come by.”

Susan wanted to dance a jig. With the newest pastor in town also supporting the effort, maybe something could be done about the problems plaguing the city—in particular, areas near Good Shepherd.

She knew how to close a deal, too. “How about tomorrow morning?”

Gabriel laughed. “I have appointments all day.”

She looked doubtful.

“Really. I do,” he said.

“Then what about—”

“How about Wednesday?” he suggested. “Ten o’clock?”

Susan’s smile for him was bright. She caught herself before she said It’s a date. “I’ll see you then.”



Neither Susan nor Gabriel knew how much attention their stroll across the lawn of Good Shepherd garnered among onlookers. Jessica in particular noticed as her daughter Amy dashed ahead to catch some of the juggling act. Jessica nudged her fiancé, Sam Vance.

“I told you they were seeing each other. Susan plays things so close to the vest.”

Sam looked in the direction she indicated. “There you go again, honey. Just because we’re about to tie the knot doesn’t mean everyone else is headed down the aisle, too. Knowing Susan, she’s probably trying to talk him into being on the shelter’s board of directors or giving a donation to Galilee. You are in the middle of a big fund-raising drive.”

Jessica considered that. “You could be right,” she conceded. “But I doubt it,” she muttered as she watched her pastor and her boss laugh together, sharing a bag of popcorn.

She eyed Sam as an idea began to form—a deliciously naughty idea. She’d have to work fast and get some help to pull it off, though. And she knew just who she could tap to make it happen.



Gabriel had big plans for the church he’d recently been called to pastor. Colorado Springs was a beautiful city with clean streets, fresh air and plenty of outdoor activities to keep people engaged in wholesome fun.

But since his arrival at Good Shepherd, a dark cloud had descended over the city. He’d been to three city council meetings as well as a citizen’s watch session in his own gated neighborhood. The one question on everyone’s minds was how to combat the effects of a crime and drug spree that seemed to have blanketed the city almost overnight.

Part of his mission was to create a better quality of life for his congregation. For Gabriel, spirituality was included in quality of life.

As he walked over to greet the recording artist who’d perform the afternoon concert, he thought about Susan Carter. If nothing else, she was persistent and dedicated. However, he seriously doubted that one little shelter could play a big role in revitalizing the city. He looked forward to seeing her again—even though he had no intention whatsoever of telling her why he’d really been ducking calls from her agency.



Her mission accomplished, Susan enjoyed the rest of the afternoon with the girls. As they headed across to the parking lot, she glanced down at the unusually quiet twins. One thing she’d definitely grown used to was their constant chatter. They talked about any—and everything—all the time. And the questions! Everything they saw, heard or even thought about came out in the form of questions. They kept Susan on her toes.

But now they walked in silence.

“All right,” she said. “What’s up? Didn’t you guys have a good time? You were singing along during the concert.”

“We had a good time,” Hannah said, her voice slow and quiet.

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, equally as unenthusiastic.

“Then why the long faces and the silent treatment? I’m not used to that.”

The girls looked at each other, then paused.

Concerned now, Susan stopped and stooped so she was eye level with her girls. “Hannah? Sarah?”

“Mommy,” Sarah began. “You know how you’re always telling us—”

“—to look for the signs that somebody’s getting hurt?” Hannah finished.

Susan nodded. She’d be remiss as a mom and as the director of a women’s shelter if her own children didn’t know what to look out for. She didn’t want them growing up the way she did, then as an adult making the same kinds of bad choices or living in an abusive relationship.

The girls both bit their bottom lips, mirror images of each other. Susan tried to tamp down the panic she suddenly felt. If anyone had hurt her girls…

“Mommy?” Hannah’s voice trembled.

Susan gathered both girls in her arms. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” she told them. “I promise.”

Sarah was crying now. Seeing her sister cry made Hannah cry, too. Susan’s heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. She held them too tight, but their distress freaked her out.

“Tell me what happened, girls. Please.”

“It’s Jasmine,” Hannah said, choking back tears. Both girls clung to Susan as tightly as she held them.

Caught up in scenarios that ranged from someone inappropriately touching the girls to an all-out assault on one or both of them, Susan didn’t hear the name.

What if someone at the picnic had tried to kidnap them? “Shh,” she said, trying to calm herself as much as she did them. Few things rattled her twin dynamos, so this rated all the more frightening. “Tell Mommy what happened, okay?”

“It’s Jasmine,” Sarah repeated, pulling a long braid over her shoulder and sticking a purple bead in her mouth. “She’s over there.”

Susan turned in the direction that both girls pointed. “Jasmine? A classmate from school?”

The girls nodded.

Though still concerned, Susan wanted to weep in relief. She instead swallowed and took a deep, balancing breath. “What’s wrong with Jasmine?”

“She has bruises on her arm,” Hannah said.

“And she always says she just fell down,” Sarah added.

Susan studied the little girl who quietly stood next to a tall, thin woman. “Is that her mother?” She hadn’t recalled seeing the woman at any of the school’s PTA meetings or parent-teacher nights.

“Uh-huh.” The twins spoke and nodded in unison.

The woman was in her mid-thirties or maybe forties, tall, thin and tired-looking. Susan knew the look. She couldn’t very well go up and confront the woman or the girl. But she did take a long look at the mother. Sadness or maybe weariness—possibly wariness?—ringed her eyes. Susan’s gaze swept the area, looking for a possible threat to either the woman or the child.

“Do you ever talk to Jasmine’s mom?” she asked Hannah and Sarah.

“Sometimes. But she falls down a lot, too.”

Susan’s eyes narrowed. She searched for a companion, but both the woman and the girl seemed rooted where they stood. Possibly waiting for someone?

“Mommy, can you help her?”

“Yes,” Susan told her girls. “I’ll see if anything’s wrong and if it is, I’ll try to help them both. I promise.”




Chapter Three


From where he stood saying farewell to picnic-goers, Gabriel watched Susan Carter embrace her daughters. The scene filled him with a longing he’d, until now, managed to mostly ignore. For all his talk about being willing to wait for a wife and the family that would eventually come, the fact of the matter was simple: Gabriel Dawson was lonely.

Not the sort of loneliness that made people do irrational and potentially dangerous things, like meet an Internet chat buddy for the first time in a secluded location. He instead suffered from the same affliction that plagued a lot of single people his age: the “no one to talk to at the end of the day” blues.

That wasn’t the sort of thing a single minister liked to broadcast, particularly given the matchmaking penchant of some of his parishioners. He led an active life, always had, but sometimes—like now, watching Susan and her daughters—he had to wonder if he filled his time with projects and people in an effort to escape what would otherwise be unbearable.

His sort of loneliness couldn’t be cured with a pet, though he’d seriously considered adopting a dog from one of the city’s animal rescue groups. Growing up, his family always had dogs in the house and yard, at least three. Gabriel came from a large, loud family. People were always underfoot and in his business. That’s the sort of thing he missed. Though his brothers and sister lived all across the country now, they still remained as close as e-mail and phone calls, and two trips back to Carolina each year.

“This was a lot of fun, Pastor Gabriel. Thanks for keeping up the tradition.”

Not given to long moments of introspection, Gabriel deliberately shifted so he didn’t have to look straight at Susan and her daughters as he spoke to people.

“I’m glad you came,” he told a man who was there with his wife and family. The wife looked disgruntled and the children tired.

It had been a long day.

“Are you going to the fireworks later?” Gabriel asked.

“We’ve had about all we can take for one day, Pastor,” the woman said. “These guys have school tomorrow.”

A chorus of “aw, Mom” followed that pronouncement as the family moved toward the parking lot.

Gabriel smiled. He’d expected to have trouble landing a pastorate the size of Good Shepherd because, at thirty-eight, he remained a single man—unusual, but not unheard of. Most congregations preferred that their leader come as a package: a lovely and devoted wife who would be expected to either sing in the choir or teach Sunday school, along with one, two or three perfect or near-perfect children rounding out the Christmas card picture. Though he didn’t have that—yet—he’d been remarkably blessed. And he loved the people of Good Shepherd—even if he couldn’t come right out and say that the thing congregations wanted for their pastors he also wanted for himself.

His gaze drifted back to Susan. She hugged the girls close to her and then appeared to wipe their eyes as she stood up.

“Pastor Gabriel!” A husky eleven-year-old tackled him in a bear hug.

“Tommy! You’re going to knock the man down.”

“He’s fine, Mrs. Anderson,” Gabriel said, giving the child a hug in return, the Down syndrome boy one of the most loving and gregarious members of the church.

“Did you have a good time today?”

“The best!”

“Gimme five, my man,” Gabriel said, holding up his hand.

The two slapped palms and laughed at the ritual they shared.

“Thanks for everything, Pastor,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Come on, Tommy. It’s time to head home.”

“Okay,” the boy said, giving Gabriel yet another hug. “Had fun, Pastor Gabriel.”

“Me, too.”

The encounter left Gabriel smiling. Not two minutes ago he’d been standing here having a private pity party, only to have the reason for his being at Good Shepherd show itself moments later. It wasn’t about him. It was about spreading the Gospel and being a good shepherd.

“Okay, Lord,” he said with a chuckle after the two moved on. “I hear You.”



Later that night, before turning in, Susan looked in on Hannah and Sarah. Their distress still weighed heavily on her.

Proud of her six-year-olds for having the courage to tell her their fears, Susan at the same time felt a sense of remorse over the impact her life work seemed to have on them. It was one thing for an adult to worry about issues like domestic violence, abuse, poverty and homelessness, and another issue entirely for two otherwise healthy, happy and secure children to spend their days constantly on the lookout for trouble.

Susan thanked the Lord that they were too young to remember their father. If they ever asked—and she could frankly say she didn’t look forward to that possibility—she’d be honest with them.

For now, though, as far as the twins were concerned, Reggie Carter was merely a man they didn’t know who smiled at them from the pages of a photo album. Photographs were all Susan had left of their father to share with Hannah and Sarah. Everything of value that she and her husband once owned had been hocked, traded or sold to support his drug habit. He’d been an all-star on his high school track team, but even the mementos of that brief glory period disappeared after he died. Susan always suspected his mother of clearing out their apartment before Susan had a chance to save anything for her daughters.

Now, as she looked in on the twins—both sleeping peacefully in twin beds, their pink-and-purple bedroom a little girl’s haven of comfort and toys—Susan fretted about how they were growing up.

Granted, the home she’d made for them was comfortable, filled with books, plants and country crafts that Susan either bought or made. “Cozy and inviting” is how her friend Tina described it. But Susan and her girls lived on Galilee Avenue, right next to the shelter that claimed so much of Susan’s heart, soul and time. Right in the heart of the city’s most drug-and gang-infested blocks.

The women who resided at Galilee on a long-term basis all struggled. Some still lived in fear of the husbands, boyfriends or other family members who beat or threatened them and their children.

Was this any place to raise her own?

She’d negotiated into her compensation package the apartment located above the Galilee Foundation’s office.

Grateful for a home, Susan still wondered if maybe it was time to move away to one of the city’s better neighborhoods. She’d diligently saved money from the first opportunity she’d been given. Interest rates weren’t too bad. Maybe the time had come to start looking at homes. She had halfway decent credit, though the time with Reggie and the debt that he’d racked up and she wound up being responsible for would in all likelihood count against her.

She’d like to find a place where she wouldn’t have to worry if the girls played out front, someplace that had a backyard, room for a dog to run and maybe for Susan to plant a garden, some flowers and vegetables.

Unable to resist, she tiptoed into the room again and placed a kiss on each girl’s forehead.

“Thank You, Lord, for giving them to me,” she whispered. “Thank You for keeping them healthy.”

The prayer of thanksgiving, a frequent one, always crossed her heart and her lips when she gazed at her daughters. At the time of her pregnancy, Reggie had been using drugs a lot. She had worried for the entire nine months that he may have passed on something to her that she in turn might transmit to the babies. That hadn’t been the case, and Susan remained ever so grateful.

These children, her precious, precious gifts from God, brought joy to her each day. Susan didn’t know what she’d do if harm ever befell them.

That thought made her think of Jessica and her daughter Amy. “Thanks for bringing Amy back, too,” she added to the casual prayer.

With a final look at Hannah and Sarah, Susan slipped from the room and sought her own rest.



By Wednesday, her mind still on doing right by her girls, Susan decided to take a look through the real estate ads in the Colorado Springs Sentinel. A headline on the front page caught her attention before she could turn to the inside section. The mayor and police spokesman provided an update on the crime wave and the city’s effort to stamp out what one source in the story said were the signs of an organized crime group seemingly overnight claiming a chokehold on Colorado Springs. The mayor refuted that theory, though.

“That’s the problem,” Susan said, tapping the newspaper with her pen.

“Talking to yourself again, boss?”

Susan looked up to see Jessica standing in front of her desk, a Cheshire-cat smile on her face.

“No,” Susan said. “And what are you up to?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a few last-minute things before I leave.”

“You shouldn’t even be here today,” Susan said. “Your wedding is on Saturday. That’s just a few days away, you know.”

Jessica waved a hand. “With all I’ve been through, the wedding is going to be the easy part.”

It had been an incredibly stressful few weeks for Jessica. Recovering from surgery and dashing to New Mexico with Sam to reclaim her kidnapped daughter had just about done Jessica in. Now, however, all seemed right in her world. No one deserved happiness more than Jessica, Susan thought.

She came around her desk to give Jessica a hug. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride, and this time, the happily-ever-after will be for a lifetime.”

Jessica’s eyes misted as the two women hugged again. Then, seeming to pull herself together, Jessica picked up the newspaper. “This thing is turning the entire city upside down.”

Returning to her desk, Susan hit a few keys on her computer. “It’s also affecting us,” she said. “Our intake numbers are through the roof. If it keeps up like this, we’re going to have to find another building for long-term shelter.”

“Another building? But where? How? I’m scrambling as it is trying to bring new money in. And how in the world would we pay for something like that?”

Good questions, Susan thought. She’d been asking herself similar ones since they’d gone from accepting two or three women a month to that many each week. Not everyone needed long-term shelter, but even so, they were just about at capacity at Galilee.

“I don’t know,” Susan said. “The Lord always opens a window when He closes a door.”

“I’m expecting the auction to bring in about one hundred grand,” Jessica said, citing their optimistically high goal. “But that money, no matter what we get from the gala, is already earmarked for operating expenses and the emergency houses, not new capital outlay.”

Jessica wasn’t saying anything that Susan didn’t already know. “I’m working on a few leads,” Susan said. “If we can just get some more buy-in from a few key players, I think some of those closed doors will spring open.”

The director of development didn’t look too convinced, but Susan had other things on her mind. Like how to convince the pastor of Good Shepherd, the church closest to the shelter and therefore the one that should have the greatest interest in helping the neighborhood, to understand that he could be instrumental in turning things around.



Gabriel arrived promptly at nine forty-five for his ten o’clock appointment with Susan. He didn’t like admitting that he’d spent a great deal of the last two days thinking about her.

When he walked into the Galilee Women’s Shelter, though, he got the first surprise of the morning. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting, but the cheery reception area, with its ficus trees and spider plants, looked more like a well-appointed physician’s office than his image of a battered women’s shelter. After checking in with the receptionist, he took a seat and fingered the leaves on the ficus. Real. Not plastic.

Somehow that made a difference.

A quilt on the wall arrested his attention. He got up to take a closer look. The scene depicted on the fabric illustrated a door closing on a woman, but a window near her opening with light and sunshine pouring through. Women waited for her on the other side, hands extended in welcome. The window portion of the quilt featured light and vibrant-colored fabrics—golds, blues, reds—while the life the woman was leaving was depicted in dreary browns and dark streaky blues and grays.

The artist who’d created the piece had put a lot of time and effort into it.

Bible verses in a flowery script ringed the border of the quilt. Gabriel tilted his head to read the one on the left.

“It says, ‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are weary and I will give you rest.’”

He turned. Susan Carter stood there looking like sunshine on a cloudy day. A flowing gold pantsuit flattered her. He extended a hand in greeting.

“Good morning.”

“Prompt.”

“That’s the marine in me.”

Susan cocked her head. “I didn’t know you were a marine.”

He nodded. “Two tours.”

Susan filed that information away. It might come in handy somewhere down the road.

Gabriel faced the quilt. “This is phenomenal.”

“Thank you. We like it a lot. I thought we’d begin by giving you an overview of what it is we do here. I’ll show you around the business office here, then we’ll go next door to the shelter. Can I get you a cup of coffee to start?”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Susan directed a comment to the receptionist. “We’ll be in my office, then walking through. I have my phone if anything comes up.”

Susan turned a smile on Gabriel. “Ready?”

He nodded. With another look at the quilt, Gabriel turned to follow her.

Just then, a woman burst through the front doors.

“Help me! Help me!” she screamed. “He’s got a gun!”




Chapter Four


Susan reached for the woman’s hand to drag her to safety, but Gabriel was already there, shielding both Susan and the hysterical woman.

Blocking the door, he stood sentinel.

“Let me deal with this. It’s what we do here,” Susan said, trying to push him out of the way.

Gabriel, however, was an immovable force. “You don’t deflect bullets.”

“Neither do you.”

Without looking over her shoulder to confirm it, Susan knew that Christine had activated the alarm notifying security.

“He took my pipe,” the woman said. Her dirty blond hair caked with grease and dirt looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months.

A man approached. He eyed Gabriel and tried to peer over his shoulder. He didn’t look enraged and he didn’t have a visible firearm, but he held a baseball bat in his hand and bounced it off his thigh.

“May I help you?”

“My woman. She came this way.”

“I’m not your woman,” the woman called from within.

“She took some things that belong to me.”

Gabriel eyed the bat in his hand. “What are you going to do with that?”

The man looked down, then grinned at Gabriel. “Me and the boys were just gonna go play some ball.”

“Then I’m sure you don’t want to keep them waiting,” Gabriel said. “I used to hit a few in my day. Where do you play?”

A security guard in a brown uniform came up behind the man. Gabriel saw him, but not a muscle or eyelash revealed it. Instead, he continued to look directly at the man in front of him. The man looked him up and down suspiciously and again tried to peer over Gabriel’s shoulder.

“You a cop?”

“No,” Gabriel said.

The man flexed and took a step forward. Gabriel did likewise, and the aggressor paused, taking full stock of Gabriel. Though he wasn’t muscle-bound like a bodybuilder, it was clear that Gabriel didn’t miss any workouts.

“Is it worth it?” Gabriel asked.

“Worth what?” the man said, his voice gruff and irritated.

“Whatever your dispute is with her, is it worth going to jail over?”

“Jail?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought you said you wasn’t a cop.”

“I’m not. I’m Reverend Gabriel Dawson, pastor at Good Shepherd Christian Church.”

The man smirked. “What’s a preacher gonna do, take me out with a Bible?” But the smirk faded when Gabriel took another step forward. The man took in the size and strength of the preacher.

Gabriel shrugged. “It’s not about taking somebody out. It’s about doing the right thing.”

“But she took…”

Gabriel nodded over his shoulder. “You can leave, or we can escort you downtown.”

For the first time, the man looked over his shoulder. The security guard stood there. And a Colorado Springs Police squad car was headed down the street.

The man swore. “Tell her I want my stuff.”

Gabriel nodded.

With another look at Gabriel and the guard, the man loped off, disappearing between houses a few doors down.

The police car continued on down Galilee Avenue. For a moment, Gabriel looked surprised, then he chuckled and sent up a silent “Thank you.” The cruiser was just on routine patrol.

“Hey there,” the guard said, sheathing his own billy club as he approached. “You really a preacher or you here about the job? We could use a man like you on board. That was smooth.” He stuck out his hand. “Solomon’s the name. Edgar Solomon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gabriel said. “And, yes, I’m really a pastor.”

“Too bad,” Solomon said. Then he flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Gabriel laughed. “I know.”

The two headed for the door.

“All clear, Christine,” Solomon told the receptionist. “I’ll tell Ace to keep watch on the back perimeter just in case. And I’ll leave a note for Lambert and the night shift.”

“Thanks, Solomon. Reverend Dawson, Ms. Carter is waiting for you in her office. Right this way, please.”

Gabriel shook the guard’s hand and then followed Christine.

“I’m sorry you had to get in the middle of that,” she said a little later as she poured him a cup of coffee. She refilled her own mug and placed the carafe back on the burner.

“Does that happen all the time?”

She shrugged. “It’s not unheard of. We’ve seen Janie before, though. She and her man get into it and she runs down here.”

“Can’t you help her?”

Susan sighed, shaking her head. “It’s the drugs. She’s a crack addict. I’ve talked to her several times. She’s even spent a few nights at our emergency shelter.”

Gabriel looked confused. “I thought this was the shelter.”

Susan motioned for him to sit. “The shelter next door is primarily a long-term transitional facility. Women and children stay there up to nine months, until they can get their lives back in balance. We have emergency houses, but we keep those locations secret.

“People know we’re here,” she said. “Word has gotten out that you have to be drug-free to stay here. For some, that’s a really big problem. Janie refuses to go to a rehab center. We can’t treat addictions at Galilee.”

“So what will happen to her now?”

Susan sighed again. “She’ll go home. They’ll get high and they’ll forget for a while why they were angry at each other.”

Settling in his seat, Gabriel balanced the coffee mug on the chair arm.

“What happens to the women who stay next door? After they leave?” he clarified.

Susan smiled. “That’s what I wanted to see you about, Reverend Dawson.”

He took a sip of the coffee, held the mug up in silent salute and smiled. “I thought you were going to call me Gabriel.”

Flustered at both the smile that sent her insides tumbling and at the way her normally open office suddenly seemed crowded, filled with nothing but Gabriel’s presence, Susan smiled back over the edge of her cup.

“That’s right,” she said. “Gabriel.”



Gabriel couldn’t truthfully say what he’d expected to see at the Galilee Women’s Shelter. He’d had some vague notion of the place being sterile, unwelcoming, much like an unemployment or public assistance office. What he saw surprised him.

Plenty of lush green plants and framed children’s artwork decorated the walls and halls. Susan explained that the shelter’s business and intake divisions, as well as staff offices, were here. Next door consisted of the living areas and lounge and kitchen spaces of the transitional housing for women and children.

That’s where Gabriel got the biggest surprise of the morning.

As Susan gave him the grand tour, Gabriel found himself struck by two things: the identical quilt in the lounge of the actual shelter, and the number of women he recognized as he walked with Susan through the first-floor common area of the facility. A couple of them called him by name.

“Hi, Reverend Dawson. Did you come to check up on us?” a woman asked.

Before he embarrassed himself by admitting he didn’t know her name, she supplied it.

“Mary Hill,” she said. “I’ve been to a couple of services at Good Shepherd.”

Gabriel nodded, remembering now. “And how are your daughters?”

“Just fine, Reverend. They’re just fine now that we’re here.”

He shook her hand. “I hope to see you on Sunday.”

“You will. Church is one thing we try not to miss. Other than Galilee, it’s the only good thing in our lives these days.”

At her words, Gabriel felt a need to pause, to provide her with encouragement. “Do you mind if we pray?”

The woman shook her head. She motioned for another woman to join them. “This is Nancy,” she said. “She just got here. She’s going to come with me on Sunday.”

Gabriel prayed with the two women, thanking God for getting them to a safe harbor, a place of refuge. He prayed for infinite mercy and sustained grace. When he finished, he warmly shook each woman’s hand, offering a “God bless you.”

Susan didn’t say anything about the impromptu prayer meeting as they moved on.

“Upstairs are the bedrooms. We can accommodate up to a dozen women for six to nine months each. There’s space for another six, but only for short-term stays, no more than eight weeks.”

“This place is huge,” he said as he passed by yet another woman who looked vaguely familiar to him. “What was this building before you moved in?”

“A drug-infested eyesore,” Susan said. “But if you mean originally, it was a mansion, a single-family home that belonged to a prominent businessman. He’d had a falling-out with his family and left no heirs. Over time, the property changed hands, the neighborhood changed characteristics, and before long, this grand old house became nothing more than another blight on the block.

“When the Galilee Foundation purchased it from the city, it was with the provision that we assume all debt and residential responsibilities.”

“Residential? I thought you said it was abandoned.”

“Abandoned by its owners. But not by the homeless and the drug-addicted, not to mention truants, who’d claimed it as their own. There was a lot of tiptoeing around issues back then.”

“Have you always worked with the shelter?”

She gave him an odd little look, something that in such a fleeting moment gave him no time to dissect.

“You could say that,” she said.

Gabriel sensed there was more to the story, but Susan didn’t elaborate as they paused in the lounge, at yet another wall quilt.

“This work is spectacular,” he said, taking a step closer to inspect the stitching.

“You know something about quilting?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Enough to know when I’m looking at fine craftsmanship.”

Susan smiled but didn’t say anything.

“I wonder if this artist takes commissions,” Gabriel mused. “It would be nice to have a wall art quilt hanging in the vestibule or maybe in the fellowship hall.”

“That could probably be arranged,” Susan said.

Something in her tone, a dry note, made him look at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Susan said. “Those pieces don’t come cheap.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.”

“Come on,” Susan prompted. “I’ll show you the play areas for children.”

Half an hour later, they finished the tour of the shelter. Gabriel had remained quiet through most of it, only asking for clarification on a point now and then.

Then he looked speculative. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the likelihood of a single congregation having multiple cases of domestic violence?”

Susan considered the question for a minute, understanding that he was trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. “It depends on a number of things,” she said. “The size of the church. The backgrounds and situations of the people who attend. Statistics show that young boys who witness physical violence against their mothers are likely to grow up to be abusers, and girls who are exposed to domestic violence as children run the risk of later becoming involved with an abusive partner.”

“So the cycle never ends.”

“We work to educate here,” Susan told him. “To reduce the odds. As far as a single church’s ratio of domestic violence cases, the probability gets higher, the more people you have in a congregation.”

Gabriel looked troubled. “But you can’t tell by looking?”

Susan shook her head. “That’s one of the challenges we face—the perception that you can just look at someone and tell if that person is being abused or is an abuser. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Domestic violence doesn’t know income, economic, racial or cultural boundaries. And domestic violence doesn’t just mean physical violence. It can take many forms.”

Gabriel had seen no less than five women he recognized from Good Shepherd. Unless he’d completely missed his mark, Good Shepherd was having a domestic violence problem. And if what Susan said was true, there was no way for him to know if a church member or couple was in trouble unless something was said or a couple came in for counseling.

Was he so out of touch with his membership that he hadn’t even realized that?

As if reading his mind, Susan said, “It helps when local leaders can see firsthand the work we do here. I especially wanted you, as the new pastor of Good Shepherd, to be on board with our mission and goals.”

“I’m seeing your mission,” he said. “What are those goals?”

“You’re just seeing a part of the big picture, Reverend. I’d like to show you the rest on another day.”

He hedged. “I have quite a busy schedule.”

“Too busy to make a connection with a neglected part of the community? To meet the people who for too long have had a blind eye turned to their suffering?”

“I sense of note of censure,” he said.

Susan shrugged. “I think it’s deserved,” she said, pulling no punches.

He raised a brow, reminded that beautiful roses had deadly thorns.

“Pardon me for being so blunt,” Susan said. “But there is a need here in this community, the very community served by Galilee, yet despite today, we haven’t been able to get an audience with anyone from Good Shepherd.”

“I’m here now.”

“Only because I corralled you.”

He tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You have an interesting approach, Mrs. Carter. I thought the idea was to garner my cooperation.”

“It was. And is,” she said. “The frustration is a result of what it took to get your attention.”

Gabriel looked at her in a new light. Had she flirted with him at the picnic just to get him to agree to visit her shelter?




Chapter Five


“That’s why I wanted you to visit Galilee, Reverend Dawson. It’s one thing for people to make a financial commitment to a nameless, faceless charity or cause. It’s something else entirely when you can make the personal connection. When you can look into the eyes of someone who needs help or talk to someone who has been helped.”

Gabriel considered what she had said. This time he didn’t mistake the censure in her voice. It was a quiet but definitive reproach. “What have I done that makes you so hot under the collar?”

There was a time to be coy and a time to be blunt.

Folding her arms across her chest, Susan stared him down. “It’s not what you’ve done, Reverend. It’s what you haven’t done.”

Since he’d been called to Good Shepherd, Gabriel’s focus had been on getting to know community leaders, assessing the congregation’s many needs, and encouraging members to take part in the whole church, existing programs as well as ones he proposed. In addition, he had to stay a step ahead of all the matchmakers who filled the pews. He had a vision for the church, one that he’d promised to implement when he’d been hired as pastor. So he didn’t take too kindly to Susan Carter’s assessment of him as a slacker.

He leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands and met her direct gaze. “What is it, Mrs. Carter, that you see I’m not doing?”

Rising, Susan came around her desk and faced him. “For starters, don’t you think it’s odd that so many of your members or regular visitors call the Galilee Women’s Shelter home? You asked me about the odds, but you didn’t ask the next obvious question.”

“Which is what?” He folded his arms. Then, recognizing the defensive gesture for what it was, he carefully placed his arms along the chair rests.

“Have you given any thought to how you and Good Shepherd might reach out to those women and others in need?”

“I take it you have a proposition?”

“Not a proposition, Reverend. A reality check.”

He shifted in his seat, bristled at her characterization. “My feet are firmly planted on a solid foundation, Mrs. Carter.”

“Let me show you the community. Let me show you what we’re fighting every single day.”

She leaned over and pulled from a stack of file folders a single thick file. Handing it to him, she said, “That’s just the last two weeks of articles from the local newspapers, The Gazette and the Colorado Springs Sentinel, as well as the Denver Post and the Rocky Mountain News. Street crimes, domestic violence calls to police—up. Drugs and crimes that can be directly attributed to drugs—up. The problems here in Colorado Springs have the potential to spill into other areas. Containment is what city officials like Mayor Montgomery are after.”

Gabriel flipped through some of the clippings. He’d read many of the same stories and had seen television news reports, yet he hadn’t connected the dots in quite the same way as Susan.

“What’s the trickle-down effect of this?” he asked, holding up the folder.

“The woman who ran in here earlier,” Susan said. “That’s trickle-down. An increased number of women and children seeking shelter. More and more children and teens left alone, fending for themselves, they find solace in the very thing that’s destroying this community.”

“Drugs?” he asked.

Susan nodded. “And gangs, where they find the family or the bonding they don’t have at home.”

He glanced at more of the newspaper articles before closing the folder and placing it on her desk.

“Let me show you the human effect.”

He nodded once. “All right.”

When he left the shelter after almost two hours, Gabriel had a handful of handouts featuring statistics, demographics. But he hadn’t seen these statistics. Susan was right. He hadn’t been out in the trenches.

That would change tomorrow afternoon.



Susan wasn’t sure she’d gotten through to him, but she knew one thing for certain: he’d gotten through to her. She chided herself for getting distracted by his eyes, the color of dark chocolate and so penetrating that she wondered if anything ever got past him.

She thought herself prepared to impartially lead Reverend Gabriel Dawson on a tour of the Galilee Avenue area the next day. She’d dressed carefully—for both the minister’s benefit and to acknowledge that they’d be doing a lot of walking—in a pair of blue pants, a cream twinset rimmed in blue, and comfortable flats.

She’d expected him to show up in one of his designer-looking suits, clothing that would immediately peg him an outsider in the neighborhood, as maybe a cop or a government worker. Susan’s mouth dropped open when he stepped into the reception area.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Jessica said.

Susan started, dragging her gaze off the minister, who stood chatting with Christine at the front desk. “I…He—” She cleared her throat and started again. “We’re going on a walk around the neighborhood.” As if to prove her words, she snatched up a stack of the shelter’s brochures.

Jessica grinned at her.

“What?” Susan snapped.

“Oh, nothing,” Jessica said. Susan’s sudden ill-temper made her smile.

“And why are you even here?”

“Just dropping this off for you, boss.”

Susan rolled her eyes at the “boss” label. Though she was, she always viewed herself as more of a battlefield coordinator.

“Enjoy your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Susan said. “I’m just showing him what we do.”

“Whatever you say,” Jessica said with a smirk.

“Good morning, Reverend,” Susan called out, approaching him.

“Hello there. Good to see you again.”

His eyes took in her appearance and he smiled. Susan was grateful she’d spent a little extra time on her makeup this morning. Not, she told herself for the umpteenth time, that that had anything to do with Gabriel Dawson.

Liar, liar. Pants on fire. The line the twins used when they played a game came to her and Susan’s mouth quirked up in an involuntary smile.

“Have fun,” Jessica called.

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

The day was just right for this sort of outing. The city had been blessed with a week or two of Indian summer and people were out and about, taking advantage of the warmer days. Before long, chilly temperatures and then out-and-out cold would descend on the city. For now, however, they could enjoy the reprieve.

“This is one of my favorite things to do,” Susan said.

“Walk?”

She nodded. “There’s nothing like fresh air. That’s one of the reasons I love Colorado so much. Of course, I’ve never been anywhere else but here, but I’m glad this is home. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“I’m starting to feel the same way,” he said. “I’ve been here for three years now, and wonder what took me so long to make my way to this part of God’s country.”

Susan directed their path. “We’ll head up Galilee, then turn down some of the side streets.” He fell into step beside her, walking on the street side of the walk. “Three years? I thought you’d just arrived in Colorado Springs a few months ago.”

“I am new to this city, but I’ve been in Colorado since I got out of the Marines.”

“What brought you here?”

He glanced at her and smiled. “The lure of fresh air. That and snow.”

“Well, we get a lot of that. So you should be thrilled.”

“Tell me about how you got started working at the shelter.”

Susan looked up at him, wondering if she should tell the whole story, wondering how or if he’d judge her if he knew. A moment later, she realized she couldn’t be anything except totally honest. Not only did she pride herself on being a woman of integrity, but also he needed to know that she knew what she was talking about.

She handed him one of the brochures. It featured a woman and child embracing as they shared a book together. “We’ll be passing these out today,” she said. “Not too long ago, I could have been that woman on the cover.”

For just a moment he looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what you think,” she said. “My husband got caught up in drugs. Even before that, he had a temper. He could get really ugly when he was angry or thought he’d been slighted in the least bit. I was the outlet for his anger.”

Gabriel’s mouth tightened. “You’re still together?”

“No,” she said. It could have been a trick of the light, but Susan thought she saw his jaw loosen a bit when she said that. “He died a few years ago. He OD’d.”

“So that’s when you took up the crusade to save other women?”

“I’ve never thought of my work as a crusade, but I suppose it is,” she said. “And to answer your question, no. That came a long time later. After the healing. After living in the shelter. After rededicating myself to the Lord and getting my life together.”

Not comfortable being the focus of their conversation, she deftly turned the tables. “You were in the military.”

Gabriel nodded. “Marines.”

“Semper fi and all that.” She glanced up at him. “What does that mean anyway?”

“It’s short for semper fidelis, always faithful.”

Susan smiled. “Really? I like that. It works on a couple of levels, including a faith-based one. So how’d a big, strapping marine end up as a minister in Colorado Springs?”

“Being faithful to my calling,” Gabriel said. “I’ve always ministered to people whether I was ordained or not. But accepting the call to ministry in this way enabled me to put my own faith on the line for a higher cause.”

“And people shooting at you in a war isn’t a higher cause?”

The edges of his mouth curved up. “Yes, but…”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Just messing with you, Rev.” They paused in front of a house, all of its first-floor windows boarded over. “It’s been a real tragedy to see what’s happening to our city. It’s turning into something like the ‘killing fields’ you probably encountered overseas.”

“What happened?”

Susan didn’t know if he was asking about the house they stood before or the decline of the city she loved, but the answer in either case was, unfortunately, the same. “Drugs. Too many people indifferent until it’s way too late. Neighborhoods don’t decay overnight. But one day someone in the city looks up and says, ‘Hey, how did this happen?’ It seems like an overnight transformation only because no one notices the slow decline. We all just woke up one morning and our community had been taken over.”

“But it wasn’t overnight?”

She shook her head. “Hardly. My husband got caught up in what was probably the first wave of this epidemic. He killed himself by overdosing on cocaine.”

He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Reggie…” She paused before she said got what he deserved, the bitter words swirling in her head surprising her. After all this time she had thought she’d put the experience with him behind her. She had thought she’d let go of all the anger.

But how could she really? Everything she was today, from her position as director of the Galilee Women’s Shelter to the woman standing here on this street corner with Gabriel Dawson, was a direct result of what Reggie had put her through. If it hadn’t been for the way he’d forced her to grow up, Susan knew she could very well be one of the people she was trying to reach out to.

“Reggie was a man who let his compulsions get the best of him,” she ended up saying.

“You miss him?”

She glanced up at Gabriel. “Not the way you think.” And because that sounded so cold, she added, “Our marriage was over long before he died. He’d been on a path toward destruction for a while, a long while. His death, like so many others, was a direct result of readily available drugs on the street. But if it hadn’t been cocaine, he’d have found some other way to self-destruct. Reggie was just like that.”

She walked up the steps leading to the porch at the house and tucked three of the brochures in the mail slot on the front door.

“It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Gabriel observed.

The house had the stillness of decay and neglect that said it had been abandoned for some time. Dead leaves, spiderwebs and debris including potato chip bags and mangled beer cans jammed the corners, mixing with peeling paint chips.

“You’d be surprised, Reverend,” Susan said.

She bent to the mail slot and hollered through. “Hello to the house. I dropped some information about Galilee Women’s Shelter in your front door.”

When she turned to go, Gabriel paused.

“What’s wrong?” Susan asked him.

“I thought I heard something.”

As if she were guiding along one of the twins, Susan took his hand. “Come on. You probably did. People coming to see what I put in there.”

Gabriel remained silent as they descended the steps and continued their walk. But he looked back at the house.

“Is there a lot of that?” he eventually asked.

“A lot of what?”

“People living in abandoned homes?”

“In certain parts of the city, yes.”

“And this is one of those parts.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Welcome to the hidden and forgotten underside of Colorado Springs. This would be the part not in the tourism brochures.”

A couple of people sitting on a stoop called out to Susan. She waved, then spotted one of the pillars of the neighborhood sitting on her front porch. Susan motioned for Gabriel to follow. They stepped carefully around an area of buckled sidewalk.

“How are things with you, Mrs. Turner?” Susan called in greeting.

The frail-looking woman sat on a plaid sofa that had seen better days, but looked as comfortable as the woman holding court. “’Bout as well as can be expected for an eighty-year-old blind lady.”

Susan smiled. “You may not have your sight, but you know everything that happens on this block.”

“That’s the truth,” the woman said. “Who you have with you today?”

Gabriel looked startled.

Mrs. Turner smiled. “My eyes don’t work, son. There’s nothing wrong with my nose and my ears. You smell good. Come on up here. This your beau, Susan?”

She blushed, not that Mrs. Turner could see it, but Susan had a feeling the elderly woman knew anyway. She quickly made the introductions. “Nothing like that. This is Reverend Gabriel Dawson, the new pastor at Good Shepherd. Reverend, this is Mrs. Mattie Turner.”

“A preacher, huh?” Mrs. Turner said. “That’s a lot better than what you had before, God rest his soul.” She turned unseeing eyes toward Gabriel. “I used to go to Good Shepherd. It’s nice meeting you, Reverend.”

Gabriel took her hands in his. Contrary to her appearance, Mrs. Turner’s grip was strong and sure. Susan got a kick out of again seeing his surprise.

“Well, you’re a tall one, aren’t you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Six foot three. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You said you used to be a member of Good Shepherd. I’d like to invite you back. We have some innovative programs for members of all ages. I think you might enjoy it.”

“He’s a charmer, isn’t he,” Mrs. Turner said to Susan.

She agreed, but had no intention whatsoever of admitting that. Susan made a noncommittal sound.

“I’ll think about it,” the elderly woman said. “Don’t get around as well as I used to.”

She invited them to sit, then she started telling them about her “great-grands.”

There was no point in rushing Mrs. Turner. When she had a point to make, she made it—even if it took an hour or all day. Susan settled into one of the straight-back kitchen chairs that had been hauled to the porch for the sole purpose of this kind of entertaining.

In addition to squiring the handsome preacher around the neighborhood, Susan’s walk had another purpose. By knocking on doors, she hoped to find the twins’ classmate’s house. Hannah and Sarah thought Jasmine lived in this block, but they weren’t sure. Jasmine, the girls said, wasn’t allowed to have company.

Susan had in her pocket an invitation to a tea party. Granted, there’d been no tea party actually scheduled, but it would be easy to round up a few little girls for an outing. With the twins and Jessica’s daughter Amy, they’d have a full complement. But before she could invite Jasmine and her mother to a fact-finding tea, she had to find them, period.

And if anyone existed in this neighborhood who knew everyone, it was Mrs. Mattie Turner.

“So, what are you two out doing today?” the elderly woman finally asked.

“Mrs. Carter is showing me the neighborhood.”

Mrs. Turner chuckled. “Trolling for lost souls on both ends now, huh?”

Gabriel smiled. “Something like that.”

“How has your hip been doing?” Susan asked.

“Supposed to be just like new,” Mrs. Turner said. “Those doctors just gave me a tune-up and said I’m good for another one hundred thousand miles.”

Susan turned to Gabriel. “You wouldn’t know it to see her moving down the street, but Mrs. Turner had hip replacement surgery a while ago.”

“Slowed me down, it did,” Mrs. Turner said.

They all chatted for a few more minutes about the weather and how Gabriel was getting along at Good Shepherd. Then, when she couldn’t think of a way to finesse her question into the conversation, Susan figured she’d just blurt it out. “While we’re out, I’m trying to find Jasmine Shaw. She’s in the girls’ class and I have an invitation for her. But we’re not sure about the address. Hannah and Sarah think she lives somewhere around here.”

“Shaw?” Mrs. Turner said, stroking her arm. “Shaw. Let me see. Well, years ago, there used to be a Shaw family lived around the block, over on Madison in the first block. But I think they’re all gone now.”

Susan tried to hide her disappointment.

“But wait a minute,” Mrs. Turner said, shifting in her seat. “There was a grandson. Trifling sort, from what I recall. Don’t know if he’s still around or if that’s the right one. It’s the only Shaw I can think of.”

Susan patted the woman’s hand. “I’ll check there.”

“I hope I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Turner,” said Gabriel. “We have two services. One at eight and one at eleven. And we have a van that can pick you up.”

Mrs. Turner nodded. “Do tell. I didn’t know about that. I’m an early riser, Reverend. I’ll think about taking you up on that eight-o’clock invitation.”

“You said you used to attend Good Shepherd, but stopped. May I ask why?”

“Simple enough,” Mrs. Turner said. “Those sermons were deadly. Preacher put me to sleep. I can sleep at home.”

Gabriel laughed. “Well, I promise to keep you awake for the duration.”

The woman nodded. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Susan kissed her cheek and stepped back so Gabriel could say his own farewell. He instead took Mrs. Turner’s hands in his. It wasn’t until she heard Mrs. Turner say “Amen” that Susan realized he’d been quietly praying with her.

“He’s a good one, Susan,” Mrs. Turner called out as they headed down her front steps. “Keep this one.”

Susan’s face flamed.

“So,” Gabriel said. He fell into step beside Susan, who set a brisk pace toward Madison Street. “What’s more embarrassing for you? Having her think we’re a couple or you being associated with a minister?”




Chapter Six


Stunned at the question, Susan almost stumbled over the uneven sidewalk. Before she knew it, Gabriel’s arm was under hers, steadying her.

The first impression she got was of strength, like that of a bulwark. The second was that it felt good to let someone else bear her weight. For so long, Susan had had to fend for herself. So many people depended on her—the twins, the women and children who called Galilee shelter home, the handful of employees and army of volunteers who carried out and made possible the mission of Galilee. They all looked to Susan for guidance, for strength. Not until just now did she realize what a heavy burden it could all be. Heavy, but not unbearable or unwanted.

Regaining her balance, she edged away from him before she could get used to leaning on his strength.

“I… Thank you. I…” She clamped her mouth shut until coherent thoughts decided to come out again. “I’m not embarrassed,” she finally said.

Gabriel looked at her askance, and Susan decided the expression didn’t need to be interpreted.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re headed this way.”

Two houses away from Mrs. Turner’s residence, they turned and headed down a short block until they came to Madison.

“Are we looking for something or someone in particular?”

Susan bit her lower lip. “Sort of.”

They did the same thing on this street that they’d done on the others. Talked to people who were outside on porches or stoops, knocked on doors introducing themselves and leaving brochures about the shelter.

“Do you do this often?”

“About three times a year. Sometimes four. We go to different neighborhoods.”

“And you just do blind calls like this? Walking up to houses and telling people about the shelter?”

Susan nodded.

“Incredible,” he said.

“It’s not so incredible. This is just one small part of the city. It’s too important to overlook. Many of the residents in this neighborhood won’t see fliers or posters at work or hear presentations at a luncheon. They might see an ad in the newspaper, but we can’t afford to run ads all the time. What money we get goes directly to services.”

“That’s not it,” Gabriel said, as they climbed a set of stairs to the last house on the right side of the street. “Look at how much ground we’ve covered today. If church members took the gospel to the street in this way, think of all the good we could do for the community.”

Not seeing a bell, Susan knocked on the front door. A moment later, they heard a man’s gruff voice saying, “Get rid of whoever it is.” A television blared in the background.

The door opened a sliver, just enough for a woman’s eye and mouth to appear behind a chain lock.

Bingo!

“Hi. My name’s Susan Carter and this is Gabriel Dawson. We’re just walking through the neighborhood today, letting people know about some services that are available.”

“Why is the door still open, Alice?” a man hollered.

“We don’t want any,” the woman said.

Susan jammed her foot in the door before the woman could close it. She winced as it bit into her shoe.

“Galilee Shelter,” Susan said softly. “It’s free and help is available twenty-four hours a day.” She tried to slip a brochure to the woman, but Alice shook her head. She glanced down at Susan’s shoe obstructing the door. That’s when Susan saw the black eye the woman had been trying to conceal from view.




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