16. Ammunition

Chapter 16

Ammunition

M aeve opened the sturdy, alderwood door and stepped into the brand-new church. Inhaling deeply, she enjoyed the clean scent of fresh paint, fabric, and wood varnish as she ran her fingertips down the smooth wooden pews. Rays of sunlight poured through the colorful stained glass window behind the pulpit, illuminating the darkened sanctuary.

Although worshiping in the church building would significantly contrast the years they had packed into the snug coffee shop, she felt confident the family bond they had built as a community would remain the same, no matter where the church gathered.

She took a seat in the farthest back row pew. Enjoying the quiet moment, she prayed over the future of their ministry in the little town of White Bridge.

Ever since the mistakes of her youth, Maeve had long since abandoned her desire to be in any formal ministry. She had learned from Ruth Callaway that loving others like Jesus could be as simple as lending a patient ear to a burdened soul .

In Ruth’s case, it meant taking in a shivering stranger from the cold, providing a warm breakfast, and a hot cup of coffee. Her act of kindness changed the trajectory of Maeve’s life.

Despite every twist and turn of her journey, the Lord wasn’t done with her yet.

Maeve tried to imagine Dallas preaching in the modern rustic, yet beautifully ornate pulpit. She was reasonably certain the former rodeo chaplain wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a suit and tie. His cowboy aesthetic and relatability were why the locals had connected so well with him. They felt as though they could come to Jesus as they were and be accepted.

Dallas had a gift of making people feel welcome and cared for, and Maeve wouldn’t trade that for any amount of suit and ties.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text, letting him know the church was ready to go.

Thankfully, right on schedule.

She had hardly pressed send when her phone chimed with a response that drove an amused twinkle to her eye.

Dallas — typing…

All business today I see. Don’t you miss me???

She couldn’t even put into words how much it ached to be apart from him, but Maeve didn’t have the luxury of unraveling. Before she had the chance to respond, her phone began to ring.

“Hey, hun,” she answered, scuffing the heel of her boot into the brand-new flooring. “Everything okay?”

“Fine here,” Dallas replied. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

She pulled her fingers across her brow, considering how she needed much more than just his voice. She needed him by her side.

“A lot going on here, Dal,” she mentioned, hoping she wouldn’t alarm him.

“I’m trying, darlin’ — it’s slow going with this weather,” he responded sincerely, his tone conveying just how much he missed her too. “You’ll never believe this, but guess who we found stranded up in the pass.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Not Melody Fields.”

His deep chuckle resonated through her phone’s speaker, sending a broad smile across her face.

“You guessed it,” he confirmed. “Tucker was in a panic, but we got him back on the road. He told me to let you know that he owes you one.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” Maeve laughed.

It felt good to laugh.

There was a long, desperate silence between them. Maeve couldn’t find the words to convey the feelings that had welled up and lodged in her throat. She felt the drive to be self-sufficient but couldn’t help but feel off-kilter without him there .

“Peaches is doing good,” Dallas chimed in, attempting to lighten the mood. “Cantankerous, though. I’m guessing she’ll give Lil’ Slim a run for his money.

“That’s good,” she remarked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“I’m going to be home in a couple days, Maeve,” he firmly promised.

He could always see through her strong facade, and she loved him for it.

“I’ll be okay, Dal,” Maeve reinforced. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“I’m afraid, my dear,” he chuckled again, “worrying about you is just what I signed up for.”

They said their goodbyes.

Before Maeve could even process her emotions from the brief phone call with her husband, her phone began to chime with frantic, angry text messages from Oakleigh. Maeve closed her eyes and ran her fingers over her brow.

Lord, I’m tired of putting out fires.

She hadn’t even the chance to read why Oakleigh was so hot under the collar before the heavy church door swung open. By the aggressive slam, Maeve knew precisely who it was.

“Harper?” she inquired. “Was there a problem at the shop?”

Her footsteps clacked across the hardwood floor as she took a seat across the aisle from Maeve in the row of pews.

Harper shrugged. “Just the same old Oakleigh. ”

“She’s not, Harp,” Maeve dared to boldly test her sister’s unpredictable temper. For her, defending Oakleigh was always worth the risk.

“Guess I just know her better than you do,” Harper’s voice projected, echoing off the flawless church acoustics.

Maeve had to decipher Oakleigh’s flurry of texts, but what she could gather was that Harper had been unkind to Crew. After being raised in a negligent household, Maeve had spent years walking alongside the young man, bolstering his self-esteem and doing whatever she could to help him find his identity. It was Oakleigh who had finally lit a spark in Crew that he had been missing all along.

“I know you’re unhappy,” Maeve spoke up, feeling Harper tense at the very suggestion. “But please don’t tear down my kid.”

“You’re delusional,” Harper taunted, crossing her arms to her chest. “You really think Oakleigh is yours, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t referring to Oakleigh,” she clarified. Although, if she could have been transparent, she would have said that Oakleigh felt just as much like her daughter as the other children she had raised.

“They’ve opened the airport, so why don’t you plan on heading out tomorrow,” Maeve suggested, ignoring Harper’s glare.

“Fine,” Harper declared, distractedly picking a piece of fuzz off her jacket. “Just throw me out. ”

Maeve’s eyes lifted to the rough-hewn, raw beams on the ceiling, struggling to suppress her rising temper.

“Why is it always an argument, Harp,” Maeve sighed, letting the words tumble out before she could draw them back. “You always hated when Dad picked a fight—”

“I’m nothing like him, if that’s what you’re implying.” Harper cut her off, her blue eyes blazing with anger. “The audacity, really Maeve.”

“He was hard on you,” Maeve expressed. She had overstepped into their raw, painful history, and it was too late to back down. “He was too hard on you.”

“I’m thankful for the discipline,” Harper casually deflected. “It made me the person I am today.”

The lie was paper thin, and they both knew it.

In the rare moment, Harper was showing a glimmer of civility. Rather than expose the truth and erode her sister’s protective walls, Maeve opted instead to use the opportunity for an ounce of closure.

“Did he ever talk about me?” she ventured to ask. Even though a lifetime had passed, the vulnerability of it all felt nearly unbearable. “Did Mom ever—?”

Harper looked away, leaning back in the pew.

“They never said a word,” she responded quickly. “It was like you died.”

For a fleeting moment, Maeve heard the sentiment of the Harper she once knew .

“Did you expect them to?” Harper blustered, straightening her posture as though she had caught herself being much too generous. “You didn’t want to be a part of our family and you got your wish.”

Maeve ignored her snark, pressing for more. “When they passed away —”

“You don’t deserve to know,” Harper bit back. “I put in the work, I dealt with — everything, ” she stumbled. “While you were off riding horses and frolicking with cowboys.”

Bitterness edged back into her voice.

“Now Oakleigh wants to be like you,” she spat. “Her free-spirited Aunt Maeve.”

The silence between the two was loaded with decades of unspoken ammunition.

“I’ll have my things packed for the morning,” Harper announced. She stood to her feet, and headed for the door.

“Since you want me gone so badly.”

Maeve sighed, propping her head on her fingertips. Her intuition told her that Harper genuinely wanted to be thrown out, and she wasn’t about to fuel her sister’s overflowing tank of self-loathing.

She knew that doing the right thing would come at an unspeakably high cost to her peace.

“Harper, wait.”

Maeve slipped out of the pew and followed her up the aisle. “You’re free to go if you’d like,” she informed, “but no one gets thrown out of Callaway Ranch. ”

“Is that another one of Oakleigh’s rules,” Harper scoffed. “Or one of Saint Maeve’s divine edicts?”

“Neither,” Maeve replied as she propped the door open and allowed the light to pour into the darkened sanctuary. “That one was Ruth’s.”