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and he dropped his gaze back to the Bible. Pastor Ron had moved on to Ephesians, his cross-reference passage, as he continued with his sermon about unity in the body of Christ.
    Paul stayed in 1 Peter. He read the first seven verses in chapter three, the verses preceding Pastor Ron’s chosen text.
    Was it ironic that particular passage addressed husbands and wives? Paul shifted and cleared his throat. What about it should make him uncomfortable? Unmarried all of his thirty-seven years, he had no reason to feel convicted. He’d only ever pored over Biblical marriage instructions once. Turned out, it wasn’t necessary.
    Maybe that was what made his insides twist. Maybe not. Hailey was long gone, and he was well past it.
    Paul rubbed his neck and read verse seven again.
    Show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered.
    His head jolted up, and his eyes fell on the Pickle. Suzanna Wilton?
    How did that woman keep turning up in his thoughts? Her ignorance annoyed him. Her anger provoked him. Probably more than it should. His life would be smoother without her.
    Why, then, did he keep thinking about her? Paul rubbed his upper lip and focused on the sermon.
    “The way we treat each other is a testimony to what we believe about God. Is He quick to anger? Neither should we be. Does He hold on to resentment? We shouldn’t either. Does He defend those who cannot stand on their own? We also should take up the righteous crusade. If we believe God is love, we should behave lovingly. If we believe He is kind, then kindness should pour from our lives. A disciple of Christ becomes more and more like Him.”
    Of all weeks, Pastor Ron chose kindness for his message. Avoidance was the easier path.
    Paul squared his shoulders and swallowed. Yesterday’s conversation with Chuck replayed in his mind, and Paul was still frustrated that he’d landed himself somewhere in the middle of a brewing mess.
    Maybe he hadn’t landed himself anywhere. God was pretty good at logistics.
    Harmonious. Sympathetic. Brotherly. Kindhearted.
    He slouched in the pew, leaning his elbows on his knees. Okay, fine. Be nice to the Pickle. Got it.
     

     
    Suzanna slid out of the Jeep while her hand kept the skirt of her dress from flying. She glanced at the paisley print and jerked her eyes away in the next instant. The only way she’d made it out of the farmhouse that morning was by avoiding the mirror and ignoring her attire.
    “Here we are.” Andrea strode across the rocked drive, reaching for Suzanna’s arm. “I’m so excited you’re joining us. My parents will be here in a bit, and my brother said he was right behind us.”
    Suzanna’s mouth curved halfheartedly. Sunday dinner. Childhood memories of pot roast and honeyed carrots flitted across her vision. Replaced in the next moment by visions of lonely Sunday afternoons with a bowl of cold cereal and a side of resentment. Her mother would be off riding, her sister, pursuing a coveted PhD, and her father—the preacher—tucked away in his study … ignoring the obvious.
    Andrea rescued Suzanna from her gloomy past.
    “Fair warning, Suz. We’re a noisy bunch. Daddy won’t say much—the strokes have changed him. But the rest of us—we love to laugh.”
    Her subtle southern country accent provided Suzanna a distraction. “Did you grow up in Rock Creek?”
    Andrea laughed. “Sure did. But I went to Baylor, and after four years in Waco, I brought a little bit of Texas home with me. Even shared some with my brother. He used to tease me about it—said I couldn’t decide where I was in life. Then one day he spat out one of my Texan phrases, and that put an end to it.”
    “Ah. That explains it.” Suzanna walked alongside Andrea to the house, her smile blooming.
    Picturesque. Tom and Andrea’s home had been plucked from a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. White clad siding shimmered as a beacon on a sea of billowing grass. A large bay window  and a