A niggle of guilt nipped at her conscience.
Unless this small church had two ministers, the cleric approaching her had to be Reverend Baker—and she owed him a thank-you for his concern and assistance. Her plan to duck out without speaking to him was a definite breach of etiquette. She should be grateful it had been foiled.
She took his hand. “Thank you.”
As he gave her fingers a squeeze, he introduced himself—confirming her assumption about his identity. “Are you a visitor in our fair town?”
“Yes and no. I used to live here. I’m Devyn Lee, Lauren Collier’s sister. We talked a few days ago.”
His forehead creased. “I’m happy to meet you, but not under the circumstances. We’ve all been worried about her. How is she doing?”
“Making a remarkable recovery. They moved her out of the ICU and into a regular room on Friday.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
“I agree. Thank you for asking the congregation to pray for her, and for arranging to have someone pick up her mail.”
“I was happy to be of assistance. If there’s anything else I can do to help you while you’re in town, please let me know.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Good morning. May I interrupt for a moment?” A thirtysomething man, tall and muscular, joined them.
“I should be going anyway.” Devyn eased back.
“Let me introduce you first.” The minister motioned to the man. “Devyn, meet Steven Roark. Steven, this is Devyn Lee—Lauren’s sister.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Steven shook her hand. “We’ve all been praying for her.”
“Thank you. The message seems to have gotten through, because she’s making excellent progress.”
“That’s great news.”
“Steven is the director of Helping Hands, a charitable organization here in town that is true to its name.” Reverend Baker clapped the man on the back. “He does a fine job.”
“I appreciate the kind words, but the credit for getting the group off the ground a number of years ago goes to you and Father Murphy. Helping Hands is actually why I need a minute of your time this morning, Reverend. I have a question about our latest project.”
“Don’t let me stand in the way.” Devyn took a step back. “Thank you again, Reverend Baker, for—”
The front door opened, and a man in a black clerical shirt and white collar entered, zeroed in on their group, and hustled over. “Greetings, one and all.” He beamed at everyone.
Reverend Baker arched an eyebrow and tapped his watch. “Shouldn’t you be greeting parishioners after Mass?”
“Short homily today. Since we finished early, I decided to come over and check out the rumor I heard.”
“What rumor?”
“That you introduced a new flavor of Danish to your social hour spread. Lemon curd. True or false?”
“True. But why don’t you eat those homemade donuts you’re always raving about at your church instead of mooching our treats?”
“I ate those too, after the early Mass.” He patted his stomach, eyes twinkling.
Reverend Baker gave his fellow cleric a head-to-toe and folded his arms. “Yes. I can see you take your sampling duties seriously.”
“Very funny. Maybe if you put on a few pounds, it would help your golf game.”
As Devyn’s lips quivered, Steven muffled a chuckle with a cough.
