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hopped into the truck and turned the key. The oversized machine roared to life. He turned it off then started it again to ensure it wasn’t a fluke. Sure enough, it started up again. “I can’t believe it.”
    He studied the ignition. He couldn’t tell what she’d done, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask her either.
    Melody picked up her toolbox and walked back toward his dad’s pickup. Drew jumped out of the dump truck and grabbed her arm from behind. On what seemed to be a reflex, she jerked around with her fist clenched. He let her go but stared into her well-guarded eyes. “I just wanted to thank you.”
    She relaxed a bit and nodded her head. “You’re welcome.”
    Drew watched as she got into the truck beside his dad. She’d jumped like she was terrified of him. He’d never seen a woman so ready to fight at such a simple touch. She had a reason to fear being alone with a man. He saw it for the briefest moment in her eyes. His heart pounded, and anger flamed within him as he thought of what could have happened to her. He’d never allow a woman to be mistreated.

    Melody hated Sundays. She’d been living with her aunt and uncle for several months, and the first few months she’d been able to talk her way out of going to church services with them. But the last three months, between Aunt Renee and Uncle Roy, and Gracie’s and Addy’s constant prodding, Melody had to succumb to their requests or listen to them harp at her for the rest of the week.
    She wiped her sweaty palms against the sides of her faded blue jeans as they walked into the pristine white building. They may have been able to get her to go with them, but she absolutely refused to get dressed up. It had been hard enough wearing that silver silky thing in Addy and Nick’s wedding. There was no way she’d be dolling herself up for a place she didn’t even want to go.
    “How ya doin’, Melody?” The plump and short, balding pastor grabbed her hand in a tight squeeze.
    She nodded and plastered a smile to her face. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
    He patted the top of her hand. “It always makes my day to see your pretty face come through those doors.”
    Normally, Melody would deck a man for saying something like that to her, but the pastor’s expression and tone was so genuine and sweet, Melody had never been able to allow herself to get mad at him. “It’s good to be here.”
    The words slipped from her mouth, even though she knew they were a lie. It wasn’t good to be there. Not to her. She hated sitting in that padded wooden pew beside her aunt and uncle and looking at the wooden cross the church people had hung above a pool of water. If she remembered right, her aunt had said it was a baptistery, whatever that meant.
    She felt like such a hypocrite going to church. She didn’t believe in God. Well, maybe she believed in Him, but she didn’t think He was like this all-present, all-knowing, all-caring being like her family did. He certainly hadn’t been very present in her life.
    If He was all the terrific things her aunt and uncle talked about, then why did He let her dad leave? Why did her mom work all the time and ignore her when she was home? Why did that guy try to rape her? Why did her mom up and decide to get married again?
    Those were only the whys about her own life. She had a plethora of whys when it came to the really bad things that happened in the world. The people who were abused by their parents. The people who were murdered. Car accidents. Drug abuse. Drunk drivers. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. The list literally went on and on and on.
    If God was in control of all the world—the whole wide world—and He loved the world so much that He gave His only Son, as her aunt liked to remind her, then Melody wanted to know why He allowed so many bad things to happen.
    She shook her head. No. Either there wasn’t a God, or He just liked to keep Himself out of all the happenings of the world. Whichever of the two was true of God, she