venture that had been the pride of the local clergy. They had watched helplessly as the money their churches had spent helping the poor ended up in G. Dwayne Snopes’s bottomless pockets instead. And Rachel had been a big part of that.
He remembered the day he’d impulsively introduced himself to her as she was coming out of the bank. He’d told her about the clinic that was being forced to close and been encouraged by what he’d interpreted as a genuine look of concern behind her mascara-coated eyelashes.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Reverend Bonner.”
“I’m not trying to assign blame,” he’d said, “but the Temple of Salvation has taken so many members from our local congregations that the churches have had to abandon one worthy project after another.”
She’d stiffened, and he could see that he’d made her defensive. “You can’t blame what’s happened on the Temple.”
He should have been more tactful, but the large sapphires in her earlobes caught the sunlight, and he thought how even one of those stones could help keep the clinic open. “I’ll admit that I’d like to see the Temple show a little more responsibility to the community.”
“The Temple has pumped hundreds of thousands of dollars into this county.”
“Into the business community, but not into philanthropy.”
“You’re obviously not a regular viewer, Reverend Bonner, or you’d know that the Temple does wonderful work. Orphanages throughout Africa depend on us.”
Ethan had been trying to look into those orphanages, along with the rest of the Temple’s finances, and he wouldn’t let this pampered woman decked out in flashy jewelry and too-high heels get by with that one. “Tell me, Mrs. Snopes, am I the only one who wonders exactly how many of those millions of dollars your husband collects for orphans actually make their way to Africa?”
Her green eyes had turned into chips of ice, and he saw a flash of redhead’s temper. “You shouldn’t blame my husband because he has the energy and imagination to keep his pews filled on Sunday morning.”
He couldn’t hide his anger. “I won’t turn my worship service into a lounge act for anyone.”
If she’d responded sarcastically, maybe he could have forgotten about their encounter, but her voice had softened with something like sympathy. “Maybe that’s where you’re going wrong, Reverend Bonner. It’s not your worship service. It belongs to God.”
As she’d walked away, he had been forced to acknowledge the painful truth he didn’t want to face. The grandiose success of the Temple merely highlighted his own shortcomings.
Although his sermons were thoughtful and delivered from the heart, they weren’t dramatic. He’d never stirred his congregation to tears with the passion of his message. He couldn’t heal the sick or make the crippled walk, and the walls of his church hadn’t been bursting from overcrowding, even before G. Dwayne’s arrival in Salvation.
Maybe that was why the dislike he felt for Rachel Snopes was so personal. She had held up a mirror that made him face what he didn’t want to see—his utter lack of suitability to be a minister.
He turned off the highway onto the narrow road that led up Heartache Mountain to Annie’s cottage. It was located less than a mile from the entrance of the drive-in.
Rachel pushed a tangled lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. Annie Glide was a feisty woman.”
“You knew her?”
“Unfortunately. She had an aversion to Dwayne right from the beginning, and since she couldn’t get past his bodyguards to give him a piece of her mind, she gave it to me instead.”
“Annie was a woman of strong opinions.”
“When did she die?”
“About five months ago. Her heart finally gave out. She had a good life, but we miss her.”
“Has her house been empty since then?”
“Until recently. My secretary, Kristy Brown, has been living there for the past few weeks. The lease