to drink, honey?”
Nicole glanced at the half-empty coffeepot on the counter. Marcus had noticed that wherever Ovida and Larry Cutler were, the coffeepot was kept in service. It seemed fitting that this girl, for she was little more than that, surely, should show a preference for the dark beverage.
Without being asked, he turned to the cabinet and took down a stoneware coffee mug. Then he filled it with strong, black coffee and carried it to the table, placing it gently in front of this dark-haired beauty. She was beautiful, he realized with a jolt. But very young.
“There’s cream and sugar, if you like.”
Smiling wanly, she shook her head, tugged off her worn red leather gloves and wrapped a slender hand around the mug.
“Thank you. Again.”
“You’re welcome. Again.”
As she sipped, he pulled out a chair for Ovida and nodded her down into it.
“Now tell me, honey,” Ovida urged, “what’s wrong?”
Nicole glanced quickly at Marcus before dropping both hands into her lap in a gesture that bespoke both helplessness and frustration. Marcus pulled out another chair and sat, bracing his forearms against the glass tabletop.
“Forgive me if I’m intruding where I’m not wanted, but if there’s a problem, I’d like to help. My name is Marcus Wheeler, by the way.”
“Nicole Archer.”
He smiled to put her at ease. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicole. I take it that you know my sister Jolie.”
Nicole shook her head. “I know she’s married to Vince, that this is their house.”
“If you know the Cutlers, then you must realize that, through Jolie, I’m part of the family now. You probably don’t know that I’m also a minister.”
Her slender, dark brows rose into pronounced arches.
“Really? You seem too…young.”
Marcus chuckled. “That’s good to hear today of all days.” He leaned closer and confessed in a conspiratorial tone. “Today’s my birthday. My twenties are now officially behind me.”
“Happy birthday.” Wrinkling her button of a nose, she added, “I didn’t mean to crash the party.”
“No problem.” He folded his hands. “I’d like to help, if you’ll allow it.”
She sighed, braced an elbow against the tabletop, turned up her palm and dropped her forehead into it.
“There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Straightening, she shook her head. “I don’t even know why I bothered to come here. It’s just that…” She looked at Ovida, and fresh tears clouded her eyes. “You said this was where you’d be if I needed you.”
Ovida reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “You did exactly right. Now, then, what’s Dillard done this time?”
“Same old, same old,” came the muttered answer.
“That man!” Ovida snapped. “Did he hurt you?”
Marcus stiffened as alarm and something he didn’t normally feel, anger, flashed through him.
“Who is Dillard?”
“Nicole’s father,” Ovida divulged. “Dillard Archer’s been mad at the world and living in a bottle ever since his wife died more than three years ago.”
“He was never like this when Mom was alive,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “He’d lose his temper once in a while, even put his fist through a wall a time or two, but now…” She bit her lip.
Marcus reached for the sheltering mantle of his professional detachment. For some reason that seemed more difficult than usual, but he managed, asking gently, “Is he abusive?”
Nicole bowed her head and whispered, “The worst part is the things he says sometimes, especially to my little brother.”
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Beau. He turned thirteen at the end of November.”
An emotional age, as Marcus remembered all too well. The next question was, to him, all important.
“Has your father ever hit either one of you, Nicole?”
She sucked in a deep breath, her stillness indicating that she was deciding what to tell him.
“Not really. He’s shoved us around a little, Beau mostly. I’m afraid my little brother hasn’t learned when it’s best to keep quiet.”
Ovida shared a grim look with Marcus, saying, “Your poor mother’s heart would break if she wasn’t beyond such emotion, thank the good Lord.”
“I just don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Nicole admitted tearfully. “I know he misses Mom, but we all do.”
“Of course we do,” Ovida crooned. “For her I’m happy, though. No more illness or pain. Just the peace and joy of heaven.”
Nicole nodded, sniffing. “I believe that, but Dad doesn’t.”
Marcus sighed inwardly, unsurprised to hear that Dillard Archer was not a believer.
“Have you considered calling the authorities?”
Nicole shook her head, blurting, “I don’t want him to go to jail!”
“It might be the only way to get him the help he needs.”
“But what would happen to my little brother?”
Marcus knew the probable answer to that, but he needed more information to make an informed guess.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
So young, Marcus thought, to be shouldering such responsibility.
“Do you work?”
“Part-time. School doesn’t leave a lot of time for work.”
“You’re in college then?”
“UTA.”
He’d attended the University of Texas at Arlington himself, before seminary.
“Studying what, may I ask?”
“Early childhood education.”
He smiled at that and heard himself saying, “We have a day care center at our church.”
“Oh? I’d like to work in day care again, but waiting tables pays better, especially for part-time.” She looked down at her hands, mumbling, “Dad’s on disability because of his back, and that really doesn’t go very far. If we hadn’t used Mom’s life insurance to pay off the house, I don’t know how we’d make it.”
“His drinking can’t help any,” Marcus pointed out gently, “and he isn’t likely to quit on his own.”
“Look,” Nicole said firmly, “I promised my mom.” Her beautiful brown eyes implored Marcus to understand. “I promised that I’d take care of them, Beau and Dad. Mom wouldn’t want me to turn him in to the police.”
“Nicole, your mother never imagined that your dad would fall apart like this,” Ovida pointed out. “She wouldn’t want you to risk yours or your brother’s safety.”
“It’s not that bad,” Nicole insisted. “It’s just that I never know what’s going to set him off, and he can say some really ugly things. I shouldn’t let them bother me. I know it’s the alcohol talking, but…” She sighed intensely.
“Don’t make excuses for him, honey,” Ovida advised, “and don’t let him get to you.”
She