Willow couldn’t move.
“Willow. We all know your heart is for these kids,” Pastor Hayes said quietly. “But you and I both know you don’t have a Bible degree. Frankly, you don’t even have a high school diploma.”
If he’d punched her in the gut, it wouldn’t have hurt her more.
Carrie cut in. “We need someone who can get through to these kids. Who will teach them to listen—and mind—their parents. And who will alert us if they decide to do something stupid like . . . like . . .” Carrie’s breath caught, and she pressed her hand over her mouth. “Like get high and nearly get themselves killed by running off with some sex-crazed boy!”
Willow wanted to hold up her hand, offer some editing. But, really, what could she say, except, “I’m sorry.”
Carrie could have turned her to stone with her glare.
Willow glanced at Walt, then at Bella. “Tell her . . . if you want . . . that I stopped—no, that I’m praying for her.”
She bit her lip, blinking hard, and backed out of the room.
In the hall, she leaned against the wall, just for a moment, her heart thundering, and tried to keep her legs from turning completely liquid.
You have to guide them, Willow.
She could hardly guide herself. She pushed herself away from the wall. Then she headed to the stairwell.
Because, with Sierra and Sam congregated right by the elevator, she just might burst into tears, a full-out unravel at the sight of them.
All of them—the entire PEAK team, rescuing people from death and making a difference in people’s lives.
While she, apparently, was just here for the fun.
Because, really, what else was she fit to do?
She opened the stairwell doorway and stepped out onto the landing.
Stopped.
Voices lifted and bounced through the metal and corrugated stairwell.
“What were you thinking, Quinn? No, scratch that. I know exactly what you were thinking.”
“Dad, it wasn’t like that!”
She held her breath and looked over the edge. Senator Wolfgang Starr had his hand fisted in his son’s suit jacket and was pushing him up against the cold cement wall, just a floor below her.
Quinn didn’t seem fazed. A good-looking kid with his short, tousled black hair, cut jaw, brown eyes—now fierce as he glared at his dad—he bore the physique of a kid used to workouts and not settling for halfway.
Probably just like dear old dad. Because in a way, Quinn was the image of his father—tall, wide-shouldered, confident.
No wonder Senator Starr had swept the last election. He simply had to smile into the camera and list his three bronze stars and four meritorious service medals and add in the fact he’d saved more than a few army personnel during his tours in Iraq.
She felt a little sorry for Quinn, trying to live up to all that.
“We were just out there because there’s this great view of Huckleberry Mountain at the overlook. Willow was telling me about it, and I thought Bella would want to see it.”
And she wanted to die on the spot. She had been telling the kids about the best views of the park, how God spoke to her when she was hiking or in nature. When she could get a perspective of God’s world.
But—oh no.
“Listen, Quinn,” the senator said. “I don’t care about this girl—I care about you. And your future. You were at a pit party, with kids who were drinking and doing drugs. Do you realize how that might look on your Naval Academy application if you got busted?” He leaned into Quinn, whose jaw tightened. For Quinn’s part, he didn’t blink. “It means no naval appointment, no officer status, no future. All so you could make out with some girl—”
“She’s not just some girl. I love her, Dad. And frankly, I couldn’t care less about the Naval Academy!”
His father slammed his bare palm into the wall over Quinn’s shoulder. Even Willow jumped, pressing a hand over her mouth to keep silent.
Quinn swallowed and, despite his expression, seemed to pale.
Someone needed to intervene. Willow put her hand on the railing and was about to come to Quinn’s rescue when the stairwell door banged open.
There in the doorway, the door softly shutting behind him, stood Deputy Sam Brooks.
He wore his law enforcement face. Solemn, his blue eyes piercing, his mouth in a tight line of warning.
Sam would protect Quinn—he wasn’t the kind to flinch at trouble.
“What’s going on here, Senator?” Sam said in his everybody-stay-calm voice. “We can hear you out in the lobby.”
Wolfgang took a step back, considered his son, then turned to Sam. “A private conversation between father and son.”
“Not if you continue to have it in a cement stairwell,” Sam said. “There are reporters out there.”