Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (9 page)

“Don't say that,” Robin scolded lightly. “Family is often the most difficult to reach. They know all our faults and foibles after all. Colleen doesn't know the Ethan I do. She remembers the brother who pulled her hair and tattled on her.”

He chuckled. “Sadly, that's true.” Sobering, he added, “And more besides. There were some who expected me to be my father's son in every sense of the word.”

“
That
I can relate to,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Ever hear of the Templeton foundation?”

He furrowed his brow, thinking. “Just the Templeton science foundation.”

“That's it. The Templeton Foundation for Scientific Research.”

“What about it?”

“My mother is Sheila Templeton,
Dr.
Sheila Templeton Frazier. Her grandfather established the foundation.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Her parents were both research scientists who worked for the foundation.”

“Double wow.”

“My father, Gary, now runs the foundation.”

“You're putting me on.”

Robin shook her head. “And I, the only Templeton heir—the only Frazier heir, for that matter—am a lowly historian.”

Ethan frowned. “What's lowly about being a historian?”

“It means that I will have no role in the foundation, so it will pass out of the control of the Templeton family entirely when my parents retire.”

Smiling lazily, Ethan said, “Sounds to me like Gary and Sheila should have had more than one child.”

“Oh, no,” Robin proclaimed, fighting back a chortle. “My mother's fifteen-year career plan allowed just two years for pregnancy and childbearing, and I took too long to conceive.”

Ethan made a choking sound. “Seriously? It occurs to me,” he said, “that there might be such a thing as too much soberness after all.”

They both laughed.

A door closed at the back of the sanctuary, and they turned their heads, twisting on the pew and breaking apart their hands. Faith Shaw and Dale Massey stood together at the top of the center aisle, the engaged couple to wed on Christmas night. They made a striking pair, petite Faith with her lustrous auburn hair swaying about her shoulders and tall, dusky-blond Dale who, despite his casual clothing, still looked like money walking.

“Ethan,” Faith said, nodding in greeting.

“You asked us to stop by,” Dale reminded him.

Rising, Ethan threw out his arms in welcome. “Of course. Thank you for coming. Our last light chat before the big event.”

Robin took that as her cue. More like her
rescue.
Much more of this private conversation and she'd be telling Ethan everything. As touched as she was by Ethan's taking her into his confidence, she dared not return the favor. Besides, she made it a point to avoid Faith Shaw whenever she could. She quite liked the other woman, but ever since Faith had learned that she and Robin shared the same middle name, Elaine, Robin had tried to steer clear of her. If Faith ever put together Robin's resemblance to Elaine Shaw, Jasper Gulch founder Ezra Shaw's wife and Faith's great-grandmother, with their shared middle name, she might realize they had a familial connection. If she then started to think about the fact that Lucy's body had never been recovered after the accident on the bridge, Faith and all the Shaws might start asking themselves if Robin had some connection to them, and if so, why she had kept it a secret all these months. And then they'd almost certainly come up with all the most logical but wrong conclusions.

Robin popped up and began gathering her things, addressing Ethan. “I'll see you tomorrow evening.”

“This won't take long,” he said. “If you don't mind waiting, we could—”

“No. No, no,” she refused brightly, shouldering her bag and tucking papers under her arm. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

He started after her. “I should walk you out anyway.”

She put out a stiff arm. “No. I insist. It's been a long day for everyone. I'm going home. You finish up and do the same.”

“It has been a long one, hasn't it?” said Faith, unknowingly aiding Robin's cause.

“But just think,” Dale murmured. “One week from today, we'll be married.”

“Only a week,” Faith said dreamily. Then she slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Only a week!”

Only a week,
Robin thought grimly, hurrying from the room. Two at the most. And then it was back to being the disappointment of the Templeton Fraziers.

Better that, though, than another disappointment for dear Ethan to bear.

* * *

Watching Robin rush from the sanctuary, Ethan pasted on a smile and turned to the young couple awaiting his attention. He'd asked Faith and Dale here for a brief counseling session. Many pastors required weeks of counseling before they consented to marry a couple, but as a young, single man, Ethan didn't feel qualified to truly counsel anyone concerning marriage.

Just a couple months ago, as part of the centennial celebrations, he'd performed a mass wedding ceremony for fifty couples, including two of Faith's siblings. Julie had married Ryan Travers, and Cord had married Katie Shaw—twice, actually, as the first time had been intended only for show so that the numbers worked out for the centennial event. Fortunately, Cord had realized that he meant every word of his vows, and the two had quickly made the marriage legal. Jack and Olivia McGuire and Brody and Hannah Harcourt had also married at the Old Tyme wedding event in October. Jasper Gulch was going to have a rash of anniversaries in that month from now on.

Ethan did take his responsibilities seriously, however, and it would be remiss of him not to speak with Faith and Dale at least in passing before their wedding. Ironically, Faith's father, Jackson Shaw, had tried to kindle a romance between Ethan and his eldest daughter. Ethan wondered if that was why Robin had scampered away so quickly. Did she resent his relationship with Faith?

He mentally scoffed at the idea. Wishful thinking. First of all, Faith was engaged to marry Dale Massey. Second, while Ethan and Faith respected each other, that was as far as it went, as far as it had ever gone for either of them, and everyone in town undoubtedly knew it.

Third, and most important: Robin was not the jealous, resentful type. Robin was basically sweet natured, generous, thoughtful, helpful. In truth, he just wanted to believe that she was falling in love with him, when the exact opposite might very well be the case. No, more likely, despite her kindness, she had been disturbed by what she had learned about his family, and that was not even the worst of his secrets. He couldn't blame her. An heir of the Templetons of the Templeton Foundation for Scientific Research could do far better than him.

He didn't know why he had told Robin about his family. He hadn't intended to, but the moment had felt so right. Perhaps he had hoped that if he confided in her, she would return the favor, but it had obviously been a mistake.

Ethan had often wondered if Jackson Shaw really considered the pastor good enough for his daughter and if that opinion wouldn't change if,
when
, the truth of Ethan's past became known. Now he'd learned that Robin's mother's family was far above the Shaws, or so he imagined.

Abruptly he recognized Faith and Dale's puzzlement as they waited for him to begin, and suggested they go into his office, explaining, “I just want to be sure that you each have a good understanding of where the other is spiritually before you embark upon your married life.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Faith said, falling into step beside Dale.

“I agree,” he concurred as they followed along behind Ethan. “We have talked about it, but you may have thought of something we've missed.”

At least he'd gotten
that
right, Ethan mused. He silently prayed for wisdom and guidance as he counseled this young couple about to commit themselves to each other in marriage. And for the first time he asked God if he would ever have the opportunity to make that same commitment himself, if not with Robin then with someone else. Right now, he had a difficult time imagining who that might be, but he could trust God to imagine her for him.

A very short while ago, he hadn't been able to imagine himself married at all. He supposed that was progress. Even if it felt like travail.

Chapter Nine

I
f Thursday's practice had been somewhat disorganized, Friday's was pure chaos. Ethan tried to take joy from the small delights. The children loved the animals, Chauncey Hardman made an excellent narrator, better even than Robin or Ethan himself, and the angels and human sheep were absolutely adorable. Chauncey nearly swallowed her tongue when Lilibeth showed up sans makeup, her pretty blond hair hidden beneath a cheap black wig and a pale blue veil. The teen beauty was taking her role seriously, a fact that pleased Ethan enormously.

Nevertheless, Ethan wondered if he shouldn't have kept the Christmas pageant a small, simple production, limiting the characters to just the holy family, a shepherd or two and a single angel. So many of the children wanted to participate, however, at least according to their parents, that he'd decided to go big. Sadly, big equaled chaos.

Robin seemed to be handling it okay, though, so he tried not to stress. Thankfully, the second run-through went more smoothly, and that made him feel better about the whole thing, especially as he would finally get to show the bell ropes to Robin.

Finding a moment as everyone was leaving, he murmured in her ear, “Can you stay?”

She reached up a hand and touched that precious little flat mole right below the wing of her left eyebrow. “I, um, really don't have much time tonight. We're working so feverishly at the museum to get everything ready there, and—”

“I want to show you the ropes for the bells,” he interrupted softly, knowing an excuse when he heard one.

Her blue gaze zipped to his, and she whispered, “I have a few minutes,” emphasizing the word
few.

He smiled and went to hold the side door to help Ryan Travers and Cord Shaw get the sheep out of the building, Julie Shaw Travers being the sheep rancher in this area. After that, he helped everyone else he could find, holding coats and mittens, knit caps and scarves, even the occasional handbag, while folks outfitted themselves for the chilly night and hurried away, racing to their vehicles against the blustery winds that swept down off the icy mountaintops.

Finally, only he and Robin remained, but he stalled her until he'd locked all the doors. He'd managed to keep this secret from the rest of the town so far, and he saw no reason to give up the plan now. Assured that they wouldn't be interrupted unexpectedly, he moved to the cabinet in the vestibule and removed the shelves.

Hauling out the heavy box in which the ropes with their brass fittings had come, he slid it across the stone floor. Robin went down on her knees, heedless of the damage that she might do to her slim, black knit pants, and folded back the flaps. The ropes, he had been surprised to find, were crimson, and the fittings shiny brass.

“These are beautiful.”

“I know. It's a pity they won't be seen.”

“Maybe you can leave the closet open after Christmas,” she suggested. “Once you ring the bells, there's no reason to keep the closet closed.”

“Hmm,” he considered. “It would need a gate or something, though. Maybe a grille of some sort. Otherwise, I'll have kids in there yanking on the bells all the time.”

“It's something to think about,” she murmured, staring down at the ropes.

“I was thinking that we might try to thread and attach the ropes tomorrow morning,” he told her. “I won't have many more opportunities.”

“O-okay,” she agreed, her tone heavy with reluctance despite the smile she attempted.

“This needs to be done near the time for the recorded carillon so we can disguise any accidental bongs,” he explained, his own spirits dampened.

She looked down at the box. “I understand.”

“Dress rehearsal is at four in the afternoon,” he went on, “so the three o'clock carillon might be pushing it. If we go for the morning and things don't work out, we can try again at noon. What do you think?”

She nodded. “I think you're right. I'll come about eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Come earlier. I'll give you breakfast,” he suggested, though it sounded like pleading to his own ears.

She pushed up to her feet then bent to brush off her knees, saying, “You don't have to do that. I'll come at eight-thirty.”

“Of course I don't
have
to do it,” he said, irritated at her attempts to keep him at arm's length. “I
want
to do it, and I think I've made that obvious.”

She sucked in a deep breath, her gaze never meeting his. “Ethan, I'm sorry, but—”

“Forget it,” he snapped, more hurt than he had any right to be.

Going very still, she said nothing for several seconds. Then she gulped and quietly said, “Please don't be angry with me.”

Contrite, he stepped around the box and slipped his hands down her arms to her hands, feeling the bumpy pattern of her heavy, dark green sweater beneath his fingertips. Her hands trembled in his.

“I'm not angry with you. I just worry that you're disappointed in me.”

Her gaze zipped up to his. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because of what I told you about my family.”

“Don't be silly. That just serves to make you a better pastor.”

“Then I really don't understand what's going on.”

She looked down, fixing her gaze on his chest. “I know.”

“Can't you help me?”

“No.”

Frustration slammed into him again. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, reaching up to curl a finger beneath her chin.

She allowed him to tip her face up but kept her gaze carefully downcast. Her words came out as less than a whisper. “There's nothing to do.” Tears trickled from her big round eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

“Sweetheart, don't,” he crooned, wrapping her in his arms. “I hate to see you cry.”

She tried to smile. God bless her. She tried to smile for him, and the effort stabbed him straight to the heart. Groaning, he bent his head and kissed her as he'd wanted to for so long. With a sound of pure longing, she threaded her arms around his neck and leaned into him, melding her lips with his. Then suddenly she wrenched away, covering her lips with the back of her hand.

Words tumbled off his tongue, desperate, automatic words. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

“Don't you dare apologize!” she warbled. “I can't bear it!”

“Then tell me what's wrong,” he pleaded. “Just talk to me.”

“I can't!” she cried, shaking her head. “I just can't.”

She turned and hurried to the closet in the opposite corner, wrenching her coat from a hanger and grabbing the handbag she'd left on a shelf there. Ethan followed her.

“You need to tell me what's bothering you.”

“No.”

“Robin.”

“Please, Ethan!” She rushed to the door, which she could have easily unlocked, but then she just stood there.
“Please.”

Reluctantly, Ethan walked over and flipped the lock. “Will you still help me with the bell ropes?”

She seemed to steel herself before replying. “Yes. But don't expect anything else.”

Feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut, he watched her toss on her coat and hurry out. Then he went to safely stow away the ropes before heading back to his office to grab his laptop computer. He didn't have internet access at either the church or the parsonage. He'd had to choose between internet service and his cell phone; the cell phone had seemed more necessary, if not essential.

A couple places in town provided internet access for their customers this late at night: the Fidler Inn and the diner. It was almost closing time at Great Gulch Grub, but thankfully the lights were still on at the diner when he got there. Carrying his laptop inside, he parked himself at the closest table, ordered a piece of pie and a cup of hot decaf and went to work. It didn't take long to confirm his worst fears.

The Templeton foundation was the best-known research organization of its kind in the Southwest. Endowed by Jay Ralph Templeton to the tune of eighty-six million dollars in 1970, it had managed to triple its endowment through investments and patents while administering the original amount in grants in the first thirty years. It was expected to double both endowment and grants in the next five years, under the guidance of CEO Gary Lyle Frazier, Robin's father, who was featured in an article and photographed accepting an award.

Something about Gary Frazier struck Ethan as strangely familiar, perhaps his similarity to Robin. Then again, he didn't look all that much like his daughter except in coloring. He stood next to his wife, Dr. Sheila Carol Templeton Frazier. Oddly, she didn't look like her daughter at all except around the mouth. She was shorter and stouter, and her coloring couldn't be described as anything but mousy, while Robin had a lovely, lithe figure, not to mention those big round blue eyes and that peaches-and-cream complexion to go with her pale, wheat-blond hair.

Despite Dr. Templeton Frazier's plainness, however, she had the same look about her that Dale Massey did, the look of wealth and privilege. Suddenly, Ethan knew who Gary Frazier reminded him of: the Shaws, any Shaw, slightly more down to earth than the Masseys but somehow a step above the common folk. Just as the Masseys and Shaws were Jasper Gulch royalty, more or less, the Templetons and Fraziers were the New Mexico equivalent—only more so.

Myrtle, the middle-aged waitress, came over with his pie. “Here ya go, surfer boy. Eat quick so I can close up, will ya?”

Nodding, he picked up his fork, but then for some reason he said, “You know, Myrtle, I've only been surfing a few times in my life.”

“That so?”

“My family didn't have much money, and we didn't live near the beach, and I didn't hang around with the kind of people who surfed.”

“Ya still are cute, though,” she told him, winking before she sauntered off, her dark curls bouncing.

Cute,
he very much feared, meant less than nothing to the Templeton Fraziers, as, very likely, did the collar that he wore in the pulpit. What, if anything, would it mean to Robin once she knew the whole truth about him? Suddenly, he couldn't have eaten that pie if his life had depended on it. He put down his fork and bowed his head.

* * *

Her mouth full of toothpaste, Robin seriously considered not answering the phone when it rang less than twenty minutes after she got back to her room. If Ethan was calling, she'd just cry again. If her mother was on the phone, Robin would have to pretend that all was well when it wasn't. If Olivia was ringing, Robin would be working tomorrow in addition to everything else, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. She spat and rushed out to snatch up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Robin.”

She had not expected to hear her father's voice.

“Can you hang on a minute, Daddy? I'll be right back.”

She dropped the receiver onto the bed before walking slowly into the bathroom. Why would her father be calling? In many ways, she felt closer to him than to her mother, but he usually let Sheila take care of the communication end of things, especially since Robin had come to Jasper Gulch against his express wishes. She rinsed and returned to sit on the side of the bed. Gingerly, she lifted the telephone receiver to her ear again.

“Sorry. I was brushing my teeth when you called.”

“Didn't mean to interrupt. We just haven't talked in a while.”

Robin had twisted her hair up out of her way. It wobbled as she leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “I've been busy. The museum here opens on New Year's Eve, and we have nearly three dozen displays to get ready.”

“Is that why you aren't coming home for Christmas?” he asked.

“Partly.”

“And the other part?”

“I'm involved in a bunch of stuff at church.”

“At church,” he echoed. “Sounds like you're really settling in there.”

She wanted to settle in, but that didn't seem possible now. An ache started in her chest and moved up into her throat. She tried to clear it away with a cough.

“Not so much as you might think, actually. It, um, sort of has to do with my job here and the centennial.”

“Speaking of jobs,” he said. “I thought we ought to get some things straight about that.” He went on to tell her that her mother might have mischaracterized the position that would shortly become available for funding. It was not a pure science position but a position researching grants, studies, corresponding data, fellowships and even individuals. “I know it sounds dry,” he went on, “but some of it is actually very interesting, and it keeps us from repeating the same studies over and over. It's useful work, essential for the foundation, really, and it pays well. We've just installed some new cross-referencing software that is state-of-the-art, and you would get to decide who could access it for what purposes. It's a researcher's dream, really.”

“I see,” she said, trying to keep tears at bay. Was this God's solution to her dilemma?

“Besides,” her father added, “we want you home. We miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she said, and to her surprise found that it was true. But, oh, how she would miss Jasper Gulch—and Ethan—when she left here.

“You'll think about the job, then?” Gary asked.

“I'll think about it,” she promised, knowing already that she would take it, that she likely had little choice in the matter. She could hear her father's smile.

“That's great. That's just great.”

He asked about her plans for Christmas, and she realized to her dismay that she really didn't have any beyond the pageant and the Christmas-morning service. Shoving aside those thoughts for the time being, she put on a brave front and launched into a recitation about the centennial Christmas that she had helped Ethan plan for the church. Without once actually mentioning Ethan's name, she described the decorations, the Hanging of the Green service, the pageant, the planned Christmas-morning service, even the printed programs and the a cappella quartet. She left out the bells; that secret belonged to her and Ethan alone, at least until they shared it with the church and town.