A Season For Family. Mae Nunn
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suspected he might never find his personal comfort zone.
Anywhere.
Though Detective Biddle had briefly shared the circumstances that cost Heath a hundred hours of community service, she knew nothing about him personally. Was he a political activist or just a prankster? What on earth had compelled him to make the trip over from his home in Austin, visit the public library in Waco and use his talent to break into the city’s computer system? Whatever his objective, the price of reaching it had been high. The court had slapped Heath with the maximum number of hours and threatened him with contempt if he left Waco without serving his full sentence. They’d even impounded his vehicle!
If not for the creative thinking of Detective Biddle, Heath could be working highway detail during the coldest year on record. From the hangdog expression on his face he might actually prefer the road crew to eating in her cozy dining hall and sleeping in the men’s quarters for a while.
A shoulder nudged playfully against Olivia’s.
“Ain’t he somethin’, just like I said?” Velma whispered.
“Would you stop!” Olivia hissed, hiding the humor that would only encourage her friend.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Velma smacked her always-painted lips. “That man needs a lady friend and I just might have to apply for the job, even if it’s only part-time.”
As Olivia stood to clear her plate from the table, she gave Velma’s arm a pinch. “You behave yourself,” she instructed. “We have rules here and for good reason.”
Even so, it was impossible to disagree with Velma’s assessment. Heath’s questioning brown eyes had met Olivia’s only once across the table. For the brief seconds she’d held his gaze, a deep sense of emptiness had stirred in her spirit. Olivia wasn’t experienced enough with relationships to know if the need she recognized was his or her own.
As she carried her plate toward the cleanup station, she tried to imagine what Heath thought of her cheerfully painted dining hall. She sniffed the warm air, wrinkled her nose. Okay, it got a bit smelly in the evenings with all the food and the crowd of people right off the street. But before lights out everyone would have an opportunity to freshen up, to appreciate a brief shower.
The hot water heaters would be nearly empty by the time the staff had a turn. But with a man as handsome as Heath Stone as their new resident, the chill of a cold shower was probably a good idea. Especially for Velma!
If Heath added up all the dishes he’d washed in his twenty-nine years of life, it would still be less than the number of plates that passed through his sink tonight. He was fairly sure this would become a frequent event, so he needed to accomplish the job he’d been sent to do and then make tracks toward a new future in a new place.
Just today he’d firmly decided to leave the force.
“I gotta get out of drug enforcement, Biddle,” Heath had complained to his trusted friend at lunchtime over chips and vending machine sandwiches. “What’s the use in bustin’ college kids for dime bags when there’s an endless supply out there? It’s just a waste of effort and tax dollars.”
“Oh, come on,” Biddle chuckled. “It was a bigger deal than that. You’re just sufferin’ poststakeout blues. You say this every time a case wraps and you have to cool your heels waitin’ on the grand jury.”
Bill Biddle was patient to a fault when a cop needed to let off steam. Venting had become a daily occurrence for Heath, frustrated as he was by the constant stream of drugs across the Mexican border into Texas.
“It would be different if the indictments paid off,” Heath griped. “But the honcho of this new outfit seems to have an endless supply of product and every money-grubbin’ lawyer in Texas in his hip pocket. Living in disguise twenty hours a day is making it harder and harder to remember who I am. It’s just not worth it to me anymore.”
“Listen, son.” Biddle had laced his fingers across a sixty-something belly. “I know going undercover wasn’t your first career choice, but you’re good at the work. Stick with us till we can afford another full-timer in the Computer Crimes Unit. Microsoft and Google aren’t the only places a natural nerd can find his calling, you know.”
Heath reached for another dirty plate, grateful for the ugly yellow gloves that were a barrier between him and cleaning up after these homeless people. This place was definitely not for him and the sooner he was out from under the eagle eye of Grandpa Amos, the better.
Earlier, while Heath picked up the shattered pieces of a fumbled cup, he’d foolishly mentioned that using disposable stuff might be a good idea. He was swiftly educated about the virtues of soap, water and elbow grease versus garbage that would still be in a landfill when Christ returned. Then Amos started in about the number of trees that died for the sake of paper plates when a restaurant supply had donated perfectly good dishes.
“And, by the way, butterfingers,” he’d warned, “try not to break anything else. Money’s tight around here!”
Olivia’s return to the kitchen was like a sedative, quieting the curmudgeon who was a cranky Pit Bull guarding his boss lady’s business. As she picked up a stack of clean bowls near Heath’s work area and then stepped away, a sweet aroma lingered. She turned to carry them to the dish pantry and he seized the moment.
“Um, excuse me. Could we talk?”
“Sure,” she answered. A patient smile lifted the corners of her tired eyes. Setting the bowls back on the counter, she grabbed a fresh kitchen towel to dry the coffee cups in his drainer. The woman’s hands hadn’t been still since she’d introduced herself. He knew rookie cops who could use a dose of her stamina.
“It’s been crazy here tonight,” she admitted. “That’s the nature of a shelter in the winter. When the weather’s warm, folks leave right after the meal, but if it’s freezing we tend to bed down almost everybody. And even when it finally gets quiet, there still seem to be a dozen problems that need attention.”
“I noticed.” He’d only been in the place a few hours and had already come to the conclusion there must be easier ways to get some of the jobs done. But if it was all a front for drugs, why care about efficiency?
“So, what can I do for you?” she asked.
Before he bothered to state his case, Heath was pretty sure what the woman standing beside him would say, but he needed an opportunity to poke around the place when everybody else would be occupied. He gave it a shot.
“You can tell me Amos is wrong about nightly Bible study being a requirement of staying here.”
Olivia flung her red checkered towel over her left shoulder and pointed to a plaque on the wall above their heads. It was identical to the one he’d noticed above the front entrance.
Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Matthew 6:33
“We’re in the business of seeking God. Shelter and food are only the physical part of what Table of Hope is about. Introducing lost souls to Christ and helping believers grow closer to Him is the primary reason we’re here. If you’re going to be with us even for a short while, worship is nonnegotiable. It’s a daily time that brings the staff together with a common heart.”
“But what if I don’t believe that stuff anymore? Why would you want me to take part if I didn’t feel the same way you do?”
“Faith comes by hearing the message and the message comes through the Word of God. Just because you don’t feel the same way I do doesn’t mean the Holy Spirit can’t use Scripture to meet your needs, whatever they are.”
Heath’s jaw tightened, sending a pinpoint of pain into his temple. This shouldn’t be a big deal. He’d find another way to skin this cat. But having somebody force religion on him rankled all the same, reminded him of the well-meaning adoptive parents who were forever trying to suck him into their church activities. Once they moved to Florida, he thought this