Winter Winds (8 page)

“You were unfaithful? You? Mr. Squeaky-Clean Christian?”

“I wasn’t a Christian then.”

“Oh, yeah, you weren’t. You were the quintessential ladies’ man.”

Trev eyed his brother. “Look who’s talking.”

Phil shrugged, not denying he had a similar reputation. “But back to this Dori thing. If you were only married for one weekend, how’d you have time to be with another woman?”

“I was never with another woman.”

“Never?”

“From that moment to this.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Of course I told her, but she kept saying she knew what she knew, and what she knew was that I’d broken my vows. If I cared so little for her, I didn’t deserve her.”

“And this makes sense to you?” Phil asked.

“No!” Trev rubbed between his brows to ease the tension. “No,” he said more gently.

“So when did you get your divorce?”

Trev turned to him, startled. “We’re not divorced.”

“What?”

“We’re not divorced.”

“You haven’t lived together for six years, but you’re still married?”

Trev shrugged. He had no idea how to explain. All he knew was that he would never, ever institute divorce proceedings against Dori, and for some reason known only to her, she had never moved against him either.

He’d talked about this strange situation with Dr. Quentin, his seminary professor and the man he considered his mentor.

“I love her,” he’d told Dr. Quentin several times. “I want to be married to her. I want her with me.”

Dr. Quentin nodded. “What if she doesn’t ever want to be with you?”

“If she divorces me, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?” He heard the self-pity in his voice and flinched inside.

“Probably not. But you do know that being divorced will affect your ministry, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, I understand that.” And he did, all too well. There were many churches that wouldn’t even consider a divorced man for their pulpit. “I just keep praying that she comes back, and not just because of its effect on my ministry. I love her.”

“Just be careful of that anger if she comes back.” Dr. Quentin smiled. “It could sink your love boat before you’re even out of port.”

So he continued to hope that one day she’d come home, that one day she’d be willing to talk to him about whatever it was that was stuck in her craw, that one day they could straighten things out and have a marriage like Pop and Honey.

An amused smile began to curve Phil’s lips. “Does Pop know? Because if he doesn’t, I want to be there when you tell him. That way I can bind up your wounds when he realizes you’re the reason his baby girl left home.”

“He knows I love her, but I never told him we were married.” Trev didn’t know if Dori had said anything, but he doubted it. Surely Pop would have indicated he knew, wouldn’t he? “In fact, I’ve never told anyone but Dr. Quentin until right now, not even the elders at the chapel.”

Phil looked at him strangely. “You never told anyone at all?”

“It’s sort of awkward to say, ‘I’m married, but my wife left me three days after our wedding.’ ”

“Yeah.” Phil nodded. “I see your point. But what’s going to happen if men like Jonathan Warrington find out? He’s not the sort to take news like this lying down.”

Trev shuddered mentally. To say Jonathan Warrington was an elder of strong opinions was much like saying a cheetah was an animal that liked to run. Jonathan didn’t hesitate to use his position to unleash lethal attacks any more than the cheetah debated using his speed to overpower a weaker animal.

“And then there’s Angie.” Phil was laughing now. “Whoa, baby, are you in trouble, Trev.”

“Shut up, Phil.” Trev spoke without heat. Poor Angie. She’d had a bad crush on him ever since he came to the chapel two and a half years ago, straight from seminary. She was a nice person, cute, amazingly pleasant considering that Jonathan Warrington was her father. She was a college senior this year, and she clearly saw herself as a wonderful candidate for pastor’s wife.

When Phil cocked his head and looked at him with narrowed eyes, Trev braced himself.

“Is this marriage why you haven’t been willing to take the pastor’s position permanently? Does it make you feel unqualified?”

Trev leaned back against the wall again and stared at his crossed ankles for a long minute. Phil was touching on a very thorny issue, one about which he knew there would be much debate if his situation were known. And it should be that way. A pastor’s marriage was a key issue in his suitability for the job.

“Yes, I’m married, but I haven’t lived with my wife for six
years,” was hardly the answer any church board would want to hear from a candidate for their pulpit.

“When they asked me to come to the chapel over two years ago,” Trev said, “it was basically for the summer. Their former pastor had left rather abruptly, and they were caught with the summer season coming and no minister. I came with the idea of being there three, four months. What I would do at the end of that time, I wasn’t sure. Probably make use of my undergraduate degree in business somehow.”

“That’s right,” Phil said. “Back before you got religion, you were going to be a very rich businessman.”

Trev shrugged. “What can I say? I was young and immature. I thought money was the way to happiness.”

“Then you found true love and lasting happiness.” Phil’s smile was sad.

“Then I found Christ and true happiness,” Trev corrected.

“And Seaside Chapel.”

Trev nodded. “Every couple of months in the two and a half years I’ve been there, the elders ask me to take the job permanently, but I can’t. How can I be a pastor with a marriage like mine, and how can I ever explain the situation? Maybe I’m splitting hairs. I don’t know. All I know is that my conscience allows me to be the interim but not the permanent pastor.”

“You’re as good as permanent, bro. I don’t see them looking for anyone else to fill the pulpit.”

“I don’t either.” Trev couldn’t decide whether he was pleased about this or not. It was a compliment that the people of Seaside felt blessed by his ministry, but Phil was right. It might as well be a permanent thing. He’d have to prod the elders to look for someone else.

“And I don’t think they will look, Trev. You’ve done too good a job. The church is growing, the people like you, and you’re dynamite in the pulpit.”

Trev blinked. “You mean you actually listen?”

“I always listen to my younger brother,” Phil said, face straight, eyes twinkling. “He always knows what’s best.”

Trev grinned. “Yeah, right.”

Phil grinned back. “It drove me nuts growing up. Which brings me back to this present strange situation, which is anything but your standard modus operandi.”

Trev agreed, pushed himself away from the wall, and went to stare glumly out the window. The parking lot had mounds of snow pushed to the rear to open as many parking slots as possible. None had melted. Cold out there and cold in his heart.

How had his life gotten so messed up? He hadn’t expected things to be any different than usual that fateful spring weekend when he was a junior and Dori a freshman at college. The evening had started quietly enough. She’d come to the apartment he and Phil shared to cook them dinner, not an unusual occurrence.

As she poured spaghetti sauce into a pan, Trev had pulled a beer from the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter and watched her. She had on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and clogs. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled up into a slightly off-center ponytail.

“What?” she asked as she put the pot on the stove.

He tossed the empty bottle in the trash. He pulled another out and twisted the cap. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re staring.”

He shrugged. How could he tell her what he felt when she was around? “You’re nice to look at.”

She turned to him, her cheeks red. “Trev.”

“Are you blushing?” He grinned and took a long swallow. Maybe the cold liquid would cool the heat in his blood.
Yeah, right
.

She watched him drink and frowned. “How many bottles have you had today?”

He blinked. A lecture about drinking would kill any amorous thoughts more quickly than a dozen cold showers. “How should I know?”

“That’s what concerns me,” she said. “These days I never see you without a bottle in your hand.”

“So what? It’s only beer.”

“Beer can make alcoholics too, you know.”

“Come on, Dori. You’re overreacting.”

She walked to him and took the bottle from his hand. “I’m not
overreacting. You drink too much, Trev. It worries me. You know what drinking did to our parents.”

He glared at her. “I am not irresponsible enough to drink and drive.”

“So you say.” She looked at him with those amazing dark eyes. “Please promise me you’ll stop.”

Much as he hated to admit it, he knew she was right. He was drinking very heavily. It was what college guys did. They hung out together and drank. They played football, basketball, or baseball and drank. They scoped out the babes in the park and drank. They went out for late night pizza and drank. They turned the air blue with their jokes and drank.

She laid her hand on his arm. “Please, Trev.”

He tried to save face. “I’ll cut down. How’s that?”

She shook her head. “Stop.”

“Stop? As in totally?”

“As in completely. Please? For me?” She moved her hand to his chest. “Please?”

Something inside him shifted, and suddenly his thoughts had nothing to do with beer. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she stood so close, her hand on his chest. Probably it was him reaching his limit to the rigid discipline he’d practiced for so many years where she was concerned.

Until that moment he had scrupulously honored Pop’s order about leaving Dori alone.
No more
, he thought as he covered her hand with his own where it rested against him.
Never again
.

He reached an arm out and wrapped it around her waist. As far as he knew, she had no idea how he felt about her. He also had no idea how she’d respond to any physical advances from him. Well, he’d never know unless he made a move. Slowly he pulled her against him, giving her time to resist. To his intense pleasure she didn’t.

When there was barely a breath of air between them, he released her hand and drew a knuckle down her soft cheek. “I love you, Dori McAllister.” And he kissed her before she had a chance to protest.

After a startled moment during which he feared she’d pull away, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back
with an enthusiasm that surprised and delighted him. When they came up for air, Dori leaned her head on his chest. “I love you too, Trev. I’ve loved you for years.”

It was the most wonderful weekend of his life, but by Monday evening she was gone. Once again Pop had been his bulwark as the waves of despair and depression threatened to drown him.

“Why?” Trev had asked over and over again. “Why did she go away? And where?”

Pop didn’t have the answers, at least to the first question. No one did except Dori, and she wouldn’t talk about it.

“I can’t discuss it yet, Trev,” she’d say in a thick voice when he phoned her. “So just don’t ask.”

“But, Dori—”

“I mean it. If you keep asking, I won’t talk to you at all.”

“Give her room, Trev,” Pop said. “Let her work it out for herself.”

“I love her, Pop,” he blurted out. It was the first time he’d told anyone but Dori.

Pop nodded, and Trev realized that his secret had been no secret after all.

“And she loves me.”

Once again Pop nodded. “I know.”

That was six long years ago, years during which she lived in San Diego while he lived in Seaside. They spoke on the phone on average once a month. She made certain his calls were short and the conversation innocuous. It was as if their words of love had never been spoken, their marriage never taken place. He knew far more than he wanted about Small Treasures, about Meg Reynolds and her family, and almost nothing about Dori herself, certainly nothing about why she was there and he here.

Phil walked to the hospital window and stopped beside Trev. He studied his younger brother through narrowed eyes, and Trev braced himself.

“If you didn’t want to get divorced,” Phil asked, “why didn’t you make her come home?”

“Believe me, I wanted to. I went out to get her when I finally found out where she was, but you can’t
make
someone come home.”

There was a small silence as Phil thought about that. “I still say you should have made her come home.”

“Make your wife be your wife?” Trev shook his head. “Being a wife has to be voluntary a love offering, as it were. I was young and dumb when she left, but I knew even then that I couldn’t force her to live with me, to love me, and I haven’t changed my mind.” He shrugged. “So I wait and I pray.”

Phil shook his head. “Who would ever have believed that my little brother would become a living soap opera?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Trev asked without rancor.

Phil nodded. “I wouldn’t say I’m exactly enjoying it, because it’s obvious you’re a man in pain, but it isn’t often you fall off your white horse.”

D
ORI LOOKED UP
as the door opened, expecting to see Phil or Honey. When Trev walked in, she felt all the breath leave her body.

He looked wonderful. He’d always been a good-looking boy and a handsome if unfinished teenager, but now as a man, the skinniness that had followed him through his growing years had been replaced by a lean maturity. His black hair was thick and shiny, his shoulders broad, his blue eyes brilliant, and his jaw firm. He exuded strength.

His eyes went directly to her, and their gazes locked. She swallowed involuntarily. Slowly his mouth curved in a self-mocking smile.

“Hello, Dori. Nice to see you.” His voice was cool, neutral.

She nodded, swallowed again to be certain she could speak. “Hello, Trev. It’s good to see you too.” She gave what she hoped was a polite smile. She would match him lack of emotion for lack of emotion or die trying. No way would she allow him to know the raw power his mere appearance had to unnerve her.