“Can we take a piece of pie to him?”
Kerri asked.
“Him who?” Quincee teased her daughter. She knew it was natural for a little girl to get a sudden crush on a father figure, but the idea of Judge Hamilton Paxton filling that role for Kerri struck her as hilarious.
Kerri rolled her eyes. “You know, him.”
“Oh, that him. Sure, honey, why not. But after supper, okay?”
Quincee wondered whether he’d be home, but sure enough, the kids said later that he was, and that he’d handed her back a thank-you note.
Why didn’t the blasted man have a Saturday-night date? He was young enough and handsome. And she secretly thought he had the best pair of male eyes in the city….
RUTH SCOFIELD
became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully, her husband applauded her decision.
Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the nineteenth century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to what this new millennium will bring. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.
Loving Thy Neighbor
Ruth Scofield
The second [commandment] is this:
“Love your neighbor as yourself.” There is no greater commandment than this.
—Mark 12:31
A joyful heart is good medicine.
—Proverbs 17:22a
I can do all things through Him
who gives me strength.
(New International Version)
I can do all things through Christ
who strengthens me.
(Scofield Reference Bible)
—Philippians 4:13
To Charles—my own neighborhood boy,
the love of my life.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Prologue
She was in deep muck. Just her luck, lately. Getting another citation for a moving violation, which put more points on her driver’s license, came as an impossible complication to her overstretched life just at this time. She hated traffic court. And of all people, now she had to face Judge Hamilton Paxton!
Again.
Those deep eyes of his, his steely gaze had stayed in her memory for days after the last time.
Breathing deeply while she waited, Quincee Davis mentally chanted her motto. I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. I can do all things through Christ….
Traffic court was a three-day headache no matter which way you cut it. She fervently wished she could simply snap her fingers and make this all go away, but there had been nothing she could do to postpone it.
The court clerk called her name, Quincee J. Davis.
Quincee rose to take her place in front of the bench, keeping her hands still by folding them firmly at her waist, and waited, trying to look alert and interested. After what seemed a very long moment, Judge Paxton turned from his court clerk as he silently accepted her folder. Then he turned his cool gaze toward her.
Recognition flashed in those gray depths with all the warmth of an ice shard in January.
“Miss Davis,” he intoned, his voice deeper than the Grand Canyon.
“Yes sir? Er, your honor.”
“You were driving sixty-eight miles in a fifty-five mile zone.”
“Yes, sir, I was, but—”
“And this is your second speeding violation in less than two months.”
“Yes, sir, I know, but you see,” she said, imploring for mercy. “I had an emergency.”
“An emergency? It seems that I recall you had an emergency the last time you faced me, Miss Davis. Something about taking care of children, wasn’t it? Most people arrange their child care without mixing it with constant speeding. You really need to arrange your time better.”
“Sir, it really was an emergency. I couldn’t leave school on time, and I had to pick up my—”
“Yes, I’ve heard it before, Miss Davis,” the judge interrupted with a bored nod. “Would you offer that same excuse for these parking tickets you have stacked up?”
“Um, well, the parking tickets, while not exactly an emergency, were necessary. You see, one time I had to unload a heavy box, and then my sister—”
“You were halfway into a fire zone, Miss Davis. And did you consider the inconvenience you caused the restaurant by leaving your car in their drive for nearly forty minutes, thereby blocking their vehicles from leaving? Or the neighbors in the apartments whose parking space you repeatedly used without prior authorization?”
Quincee shifted from one foot to the other. She hadn’t realized those complaints had caught up with her. Staring at the judge, she noted his well brushed dark hair, flat against his temples. Heavy brows almost met across his brow as he concentrated; his solidly squared chin could hammer with the best of nutcrackers, she thought.
Was it possible to reach a sympathetic soul past those gray depths that were his eyes?
“Your honor, there was a reason for that.” Quincee put a lot of feeling into her explanation, honest feeling. Heaven knew she had enough of it left over from the last three months. “My sister—”
“That’s enough, Miss Davis.” Judge Paxton’s firm tone put an end to her hopes of reaching him on a human level. “I’m sure,” he continued, “you have enough excuses to fill a stadium. But I’ve heard one too many. Your irresponsible actions have become a hazard, and you don’t appear to