Noah surveyed the tattered jeans he’d retrieved from a dark corner of the bedroom closet. “You did say to wear old clothes.”

“They’re perfect. The volunteers are assembling in the rec room, but help yourself to coffee first if you like.”

“Thanks. I already had my allotment for the day.” The Americano from Starbucks with extra shots of espresso would fortify him for the unpleasant hours ahead far better than the weak, no-name brew the center provided.

Besides, buying his own coffee gave him an excuse not to mingle with the lowlife residents.

People who got addicted to drugs were losers.

“I hear you.” The minister chuckled. “I should limit my own intake. I’ll stop in later in the morning to see how the project is progressing and lead you all in prayer.”

“Amen to that.”

Reverend Wilson grinned and clapped him on the back. “Brother, you’re sounding more like my congregation every day. Any Sunday you want to visit my church for services, you’re more than welcome to amen with us.”

Noah forced up the corners of his mouth. “I may do that one of these days.”

Like when the Mississippi River froze over.

“I’ll put you in the front row.” Residents began to wander out of the dining room, and the reverend waved at them. “I have to get to the chapel, start everyone’s day with a prayer. I’ll talk to you later.”

Noah unzipped his jacket and slowly shrugged it off, waiting for the small group outside the dining room to move into the chapel before he strode down the hall toward the rec room.

Not that he was in a hurry to paint.

He’d much rather be at the gym, working out—or at Ivy Hill, meeting with a girl who craved a caring ear. Either of those activities would be more enjoyable and gratifying than this.

However, volunteering at the rehab center gave him a legitimate excuse to be in this area.

One he wouldn’t have to use for much longer, thank heaven.

The end was in sight.

Until then, though, sticking with the program was smart. It averted any suspicion his trips to this war zone could arouse and earned him a gold star at Ivy Hill, where volunteering for worthy causes was encouraged and lauded.

And if he took care of other business while he was here, who would be the wiser?

No more bad weather excuses. Today was the day for her delayed foray into the woods.

Cate shoved her arms into the sleeves of the high-end, down-filled parka and picked up her Sealskinz extreme cold weather gloves.

Being as frugal as possible with the bulk of her clothing purchases for this role play had been no problem—but if County expected her to tramp around in the woods in freezing temperatures, top-of-the-line cold-weather gear was a necessity, not a luxury.