Child of Promise by Kathleen Morgan Page B

of relief that swamped her. “Nothing, at any rate, that a little time and effort won’t put right.”
    “Then I helped you anyway, didn’t I?”
    She thought about it for a moment. “I guess you did.” Beth shot him a narrowed glance. “You’re a sly one, that you are, Noah Starr.”
    He chuckled. “I’ve been called that a time or two, but really, it’s just the healing that comes from two people talking and finding understanding in each other. Knowing they’re not alone or so very different.” As if a sudden idea had struck him, Noah paused. “And you know something else, Doctor?”
    “What’s that?”
    “You’re pretty sly yourself. In getting me to talk about myself, you’ve helped me. I don’t feel quite so sad or hopeless anymore.”
    Happiness welled and spilled over within her. “Really, Noah? I helped you?”
    “Yes, Beth,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “You did.”

    Noah dropped Beth off at the rectory, put up the horse and buggy, then headed straight for his office in the church basement. He checked his desk for any messages and found none. A letter, however, had been propped up in the most conspicuous place possible, against his worn Bible.
    Briefly, Noah noted the return address was from his old seminary, then shoved the letter into his jacket pocket. He’d read it later. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He needed to spend some time with the Lord.
    As soon as Noah walked upstairs and entered the church, a familiar sense of holiness, of entering a sacred space, engulfed him. No matter how dark his thoughts, how tormented his heart, he realized with the deepest gratitude that God never left him.
    He made his way to the altar and knelt before it. Gazing up at the cross, he clasped his hands before him and prayed.
    “It hasn’t gotten any better, Lord,” Noah whispered, his low voice echoing softly in the empty church. “I’d thought it had. I’d thought I’d gained mastery of it, but today . . . today when I held her hands and we spoke of friendship . . . well, You know as well as I my feelings quickly transformed to those of lust.”
    His mouth curved at one corner. “It was You, wasn’t it, who spooked the horse? I felt Your hand in that, and I thank You. Still, we both know I can’t expect You to rescue me each and every time my mind takes such carnal turns. This is my battle. Trouble is, the more I get to know Beth, the more time I spend with her, the more I want her.”
    He bowed his head, resting it against his clenched hands. No, God wouldn’t continue to rescue him. God expected him to work this problem—this heart-wrenching temptation—out himself. And the best, well, the easiest, tactic was to turn one’s back on it and walk away.
    Walk away from Beth . . . Send her away . . .
    Noah shook his head. “And how am I to do that, Lord? How would I explain that to Beth, to Millie, to Conor and Abby? After what Beth and I shared today, how could I continue to call myself her friend and do such a thing? It would hurt her, Lord. Surely that’s not what You want?”
    But if not that, then what did God want him to do?
    As if to free the answer from the depths of his brain, Noah pounded his clasped hands against his forehead. No answer came, however. He still faced the same frustrating dilemma: harbor temptation in his own house or risk wounding an innocent woman by sending her away for something she hadn’t willingly or knowingly caused.
    No matter how he looked at it, Noah could see no solution. Even worse, though, he was beginning to wonder what kind of man he was becoming.

    “So,” Millie said as she stirred the mashed sweet potatoes, then poured the mixture into a baking pan, “you are going to the Fall Social tomorrow evening, aren’t you?”
    Beth looked up from the pork roast she had just finished sliding onto a platter. It smelled heavenly, seasoned as it was with bread crumbs, rosemary, and garlic. “To tell you the