Pastoral care was not among Reverend Daniel Hartman’s chief spiritual gifts. He knew that he could preach and teach with gusto, but neither expertise was especially useful when a longtime member of Glory Community Church wanted his hand held, his back patted and his anguish comforted.

      When in doubt, let them talk it out.

      “You we’re saying that you feel guilty…” Daniel prompted the man seated at the other side of the round table in his office.

      “Worse than guilty.” George Ingles shook his head slowly. “I feel incredibly stupid. I can’t begin to understand how I let this mess happen. I’ve failed everyone in the church.”

      Daniel managed to quell his urge to nod in agreement. He concurred with George’s harsh self-assessment. The man had been a world-class pinhead; he’d let the whole congregation down. And now the church was in dire straits because of the poor decision he had made.

      “I’m sure,” Daniel said, “everyone at Glory Community has forgiven your…ah…misplaced confidence. You put your faith in a man who didn’t deserve your trust. Anyone might have made the same mistake.”

      George stared at the floor. “I’m not anyone. I’ve had enough experience to know better. I should’ve spotted the warning signs.”

      Daniel grunted noncommittally. George went on. “The fact is I don’t think anyone at church has forgiven me. Forgiveness is tough—especially when you have to forgive someone who lost close to a million dollars of your money.”

      Daniel merely nodded. What could he say? George was right. In his role as Glory Community’s financial secretary, it had been his responsibility to invest the church’s nest egg wisely. The year before, John Caruthers, a member of the choir, had left the church a six-hundred-thousand-dollar cash bequest and ten rare books that the church had sold for more than $350,000. In keeping with John Caruthers’s wishes, the gift would be used to support the music ministries at Glory Community and other less affluent churches.

      But now the money was gone. George had been conned by a man named Quentin Fisher, a supposedly Christian financial adviser of impeccable reputation. Quentin had worked at McKinley Investments Ltd., a stock brokerage of equally sterling repute. Quentin had talked George into making a series of risky investments that promised to double the church’s money in a few months. Four months later the church’s investment account had been wiped out—and Quentin was dead.

      “And our plans and dreams for the wonderful music ministry are gone,” Daniel muttered to himself.

      He glanced at George. Perhaps he should tell him the truth—that George knew less about finance than he thought he did. True, he had an M.B.A. and had been a vice president in a large corporation. The more important fact was that George had worked most of his career in human resources and had hardly any day-to-day experience managing large sums of money.

      Daniel couldn’t bring himself to do it. “With God’s help, everything will be set right,” he said. “We have a good chance of winning our lawsuit against McKinley Investments. I have high hopes that we’ll get our money back.”

      “Me, too. But who knows how long that will take? What do we do until then?” He rolled his eyes. “We made commitments to assist three poor churches. They are relying on us to help them, but now we don’t have the money to make good on our pledges. What are we going to do about that? I don’t have the heart to tell their pastors that we’re broke.”

      “We must lean on God and muddle through the best we can.”

      “I suppose so—even though I hate to think of myself as a muddler.”

      Daniel looked up in response to a gentle tapping on his open office door. The church’s administrative secretary, Ann Trask, strode into the room, a determined expression on her young face. Daniel stifled a smile. Ann often seemed twenty-four going on forty, a petite blue-eyed blonde who would have made a great drill sergeant. In fact, Ann oversaw the daily business of Glory Community Church with startling efficiency. Daniel had come to rely on her intelligence and discernment.

      “Yes, Ann,” he said.

      “There’s a woman here—a visitor to Glory—who wants to photograph our stained-glass windows from the inside of the church…” She seemed to end her sentence in midthought.

      “And?”

      “I was going to say okay, but—” she sighed “—with everything that’s happened recently, I decided to make sure that you don’t mind.”

      Before Daniel could respond, another person appeared in the doorway. “Perhaps I had better explain why I’m here, Reverend Hartman.”

      Daniel looked past Ann in surprise. His unforeseen visitor struck him as extraordinarily pretty—a woman worth staring at. Her brown eyes seemed bigger than most, her mouth fuller and her nose better proportioned. She had brunette hair cut fairly short and a dark complexion. The woman stepped around Ann and into his office.

      Out of the corner of his eye Daniel saw George Ingles leap to his feet. Daniel stood, too.

      The woman walked toward them, her right hand extended. “My name is Lori Dorsett,” she said. “I’m from Chicago—I’ll be visiting Glory for the next month or so.” Daniel noted that she moved gracefully, but with the kind of powerful grace achieved by an athlete rather than a ballet dancer. “I’m staying at The Scottish Captain.”

      He felt a twinge of annoyance when George—on the side of the table nearest to Lori—moved next to her more quickly than he could and lunged at her hand. “I’m George Ingles,” he said, voice oozing, “an elder of the church and our financial secretary. Let me welcome you to Glory. We like to think of ourselves as the friendliest small town in North Carolina.”

      Daniel tried to take charge. “Friendly indeed, Miss Dorsett, welcome to Glory,” he said enthusiastically. “The Captain is one of our nicest bed-and-breakfasts.” But his words had no effect. George Ingles maintained his grip on Lori’s right hand and she seemed content to keep smiling at him.

      Why would she feel that way? Daniel wondered. George was your run-of-the-mill, sixty-year-old retired businessman, slightly overweight, mostly bald and totally married. There were hundreds more like him living in Glory. Lori, by contrast, was a rarity in town—a stunning woman in her late thirties with a splendid figure and a bare ring finger.

      Daniel tried again. “I take it that you want to photograph inside our sanctuary, Miss Dorsett?” he said, significantly louder this time.

      Her smile faded as she turned toward him. “I’d hoped to begin with some outside photos,” she said, “and then, with your permission, to move inside the building.” She made a vague gesture in the direction of the sanctuary. “Your stained-glass windows are really quite lovely.”

      “You