“I look a mess but I don’t care. I love that man.”
“You look like a rainbow melted,” I said. She burst into laughter. So did I. And then we were crying and laughing and hugging each other, all at once. It was a good five minutes before either one of us pulled away.
Clarice wiped her face with a vintage hanky and laughed.
“I am a mess, girl.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Please, girl. You look like you’re in some natural beauty commercial at all times. That face could sell soap.” She gave me a once-over. “A whole lotta other things, too.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You are ridiculous.”
“Maybe I am. But I’m right!”
She flapped her hanky at me and shook her head.
“I’m off to put this face back on. I’ll see you for evening classes?”
“You know you will.”
She tottered off in her high platform heels, cursing a blue streak when she stumbled on an uneven part of the sidewalk. I laughed at the way she deliberately pulled herself up and walked off like nothing had happened. The woman had more dignity than most, even when she was being silly.
“Your friend has quite a mouth on her.”
“Oh,” I said, turning to look at Preacher. “You’re still here.”
He cocked an eyebrow and didn’t say anything.
“I’m waiting,” I said.
“For what?”
“For you to say something insensitive.”
He gave me a funny look.
“About what?”
“About my friend.”
He burst out laughing.
“Honey, if you think I’m bothered by what anyone else does to make themselves happy, or hell, unhappy, for that matter . . .” His voice was deep and rich and tinged with mocking laughter. “I never have and I never will.”
“Good,” I said grudgingly. “But don’t call me honey.”
“You’re protective of your friend,” he offered. “That’s good. Just don’t draw attention to things that don’t need drawing attention to.”
I stared at him, my mouth opening slightly. He was right, I realized. Clarice attracted enough attention on her own. I didn’t need to fight her battles for her, especially if they were imaginary battles.
“I’m supposed to look after you,” I said instead of just admitting that he was right.
“I heard,” he said warmly, his eyes way too intimate. “I’m not sure what that means, exactly.”
“I manage the schedule for events, classes, weekly groups, stuff like that.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is. And I’m in school. So try not to mix things up too much.”
“What makes you think I’m here to rock the boat?” he said, still not looking offended. No matter how much I poke him, I have yet to get a rise out of Preacher, I grumbled to myself.
“You’re not Reverend Paul,” I said flatly.
I almost expected him to laugh. I knew I was being childish. I was acting like a kid who refused to give a new step-parent a chance. But I didn’t like him, dammit.
“No, I’m definitely not Paul. He’s a far better man. Hell, he’s the best man I’ve ever known.”
He looked at me.
“If you would help me not fuck this up for him, I would be extremely grateful.”
My mouth opened, not expecting him to say that.
It was the curse word that caught me off guard, I told myself. Not his vehemence. Not his commitment to helping.
I stared at him agape and managed to nod. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the parsonage.
Well, damn. We were off to a spectacular start.
Chapter Five
Preacher
I headed right for the tequila. I’d had a case of my favorite delivered that afternoon. Top shelf. I’d decided long ago to stick to the good stuff. If I was going to wreck my liver, I was going to do it in style. It was a good thing, too.
So the hot little missy didn’t like me much? That was okay. I didn’t like myself all that much, either.
At least I knew she was a smart cookie. The kind of cookie you savored, not one you popped in your mouth and swallowed without tasting. The kind of cookie you dipped in milk.
Damn, I thought with a grimace, the girl has me hard every time I’m around her.
Even when she’s being a pain in the ass.
Especially when she was being a pain in the ass.
I downed another shot and put on some music, thinking a long, cold shower was in order. I leaned back on the couch and tried to figure out what the fuck my job was, other than giving a sermon every Sunday.
Thankfully, services didn’t start until ten thirty. I was relieved Paul wasn’t the sort who did early morning services. I was a night owl by nature. I would do what needed to be done, but it would be a lot less painful this way.
I heard a soft noise and turned, seeing a sheet of paper slide under my door.
Probably a delivery menu, I thought. Then I froze, the bottle halfway to my lips. I heard voices outside, then cursing as they started to move further away.
Cynthia had just slipped a note under my door.
I had already decided to avoid her as much as possible. I was probably kidding myself. Even though she had taken an instant dislike to me, I doubted I could stay away. And with Paul asking her to keep me inline, neither of us really had a choice about it.
I stood and walked to the door, bending to pick up the single sheet of paper.
Don’t get so excited, you dirty dog. It’s not a note asking you to eat her pussy for hours.
That would be nice, though, I thought, smacking my lips with a smile. Really fucking nice.
I frowned down at the paper, turning it sideways. It was a chart. No . . . a schedule. She’d written a note across the bottom with her email address. I groaned. She wanted to fucking email with me? That was how she was going to keep me at arm’s length?
Something caught hold of me then. Usually, I fucked with my brothers for my own amusement. Now I had a better reason. I might be already getting under Miss Thing’s skin, but I wanted under her skirt. And if I drove her crazy in the meantime, even better.
Game on, missy.
I grinned and took another swig, deciding a cold shower was just the thing to refresh me before evening classes started. I was surprised at how much variety there was. Computer skills. Tai Chi. Dance. Choir. And the usual spread of twelve-step meetings.
I decided that I would pop in and visit all the classes and then circle back to whichever one she was in. I grinned, suddenly looking forward to my duties. If nothing else, I could get lots of fantasy material.
Oh, yes, Miss Cynthia had no idea what was coming for her. No idea at all.
Chapter Six
Cynthia
“Let’s take it from the top,” I said, clapping my hands together. The kids listened to me for the most part, but they were still teens and pre-teens. They had a lot of extra energy.
Come to think of it, I had a lot of energy for a change. Instead of being wiped out and exhausted from working all day and going to school, I was brimming with energy.
I hadn’t even brewed my customary cup of green tea before evening classes. It was a ritual I had with Reverend Paul. It felt disloyal to do it without him.
I was feeling very proud of myself for my approach with Preacher. I would run the church, and keep him from ruining it, all without saying a word to the man. Except over email, of course. He would lie low and not rock the boat. Reverend Paul would return, healthy and whole, and Preacher would be on his disreputable way.
I pressed Play and watched as the kids ran through the new routine. I stopped them and went back to the beginning, marking each move while they watched. I went over the first eight beats a couple of times and then went back to my iPhone where I had it plugged into portable speakers.
I must have been dancing when the door opened
earlier. If not, it would have been impossible to miss the large form that slipped into the room, standing still as a statue in the corner. My eyes were not on the kids performing, where they should be. They were locked with the cool blue eyes across the room.
Preacher was also not watching the kids perform. He was watching me. Had been for a while, I realized.
My pulse suddenly felt erratic. The room was hotter and somehow smaller. The sound of music and voices seemed far away.
“Cynth? Can you show us the second part again?”
I nodded stiffly and crossed to the mirror, stiffly going through the motions. I turned back and watched them try it. I nodded and started the music again.
The kids lived for this. The routines gave them something to practice, to think about, to focus on when things were tough. And they frequently were. Not enough food to eat, or their parents were having problems. Sometimes, it was a whole lot worse than that, too.
We tried to focus on doing what we could to help, not taking on every single kid in the community and fixing their problems. Paul had taught me that. It was better to make the quality of their lives better. Now and then, we got a whiff of a kid suffering more than a little. Abuse. Severe neglect. Then we did take drastic measures. But we helped the whole family whenever possible. The Reverend didn’t believe in throwing people away.
We did the routine a few more times and then I taught them the end. We worked on that a bit and then put it all together. Preacher was clapping by the end, earning wide smiles from the kids. I ignored him as the kids dispersed, going to collect my stuff before making my rounds and shutting the church annex down for the night.
“You got moves,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. I stiffened and slowly turned around.
“You’re still here,” I said.
He just looked at me, waiting for me to take another stab at him, do doubt. I was ready to insult him, almost itching for a fight, I realized. It wasn’t exactly nice of me. But something about the guy rubbed me one hundred percent the wrong way.
“Thanks for the schedule.”
“When I gave you the schedule, I didn’t mean that you had to attend every class.”
“Oh, but I want to,” he said with a warm smile. “Especially any that you are teaching.”
In that moment, I knew. I knew that he was doing this on purpose. He knew I didn’t like him, and for some sick reason, it amused him to mess with me.
“I teach sexual health and abstinence, too. Would you like to come to that?”
I stared at him, shocked at what I had just said. Why was I poking the bear with that particular stick? But he wasn’t offended. Preacher just threw back his head and laughed.
“I think that ship has sailed, darlin’.”
“I asked you not to call me that.”
“You asked me not to call you ‘honey’,” he rejoined. “That’s different.”
“No endearments,” I ground out. “Anyway, there are workmen coming tomorrow to look at the boiler. I have to be here early.”
“Paul told me this place would fall down around his ears without you.”
“Not exactly true, but there is a lot to do. Which I will be happy to email you about,” I said firmly.
“I don’t do email.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m a dinosaur. I’d rather send a postcard. Or better yet . . .” He gave me a devastating smile. Why did he have to be so handsome? Only in a devilish way, of course. “Show up in person.”
I scowled. If he didn’t email, how was I supposed to keep him in the loop and under control? There was no way to keep him at arm’s length if I had to actually see him face to face.
“You have a phone, don’t you?”
I sounded like a bitch, but I didn’t care. He didn’t seem bothered. He just grunted and held it out to me. I punched my phone number in and texted myself.
“I’ll try and get you everything on paper, but I can send you calendar updates and updates via text.”
He nodded, still staring at me. I was starting to feel self-conscious, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I was sweaty, my hair was no doubt wilted, and I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, all while trying to stare down the most intimidating man I’d met in my life.
“It looks nice,” he said, then turned on his heel and walked out. I stared after him. How had he known what I was thinking? He should have looked out of place in his jeans and leather vest. Instead, he looked natural. Like he would fit in anywhere.
Somehow, I knew you could take Preacher to a neighborhood barbecue or the opera and he’d be right at home.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and left, turning off the light as I closed the door. I walked the hallway slowly, feeling out of sorts. I waved as people left the various groups and classrooms. I helped to tidy up and make sure the lights were off and windows and doors were locked.
Another half an hour and I was outside, reaching for my pepper spray and keys for the walk home.
“How far do you have to go?” a deep voice rumbled from the shadows.
Preacher leaned against the wall beside the annex doors, watching as I locked them. I exhaled, not realizing I had been so tense. I always got into fight or flight mode for the walk home.
“Not far. Fifteen blocks or so.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Humor me.” He held up his hands. “I won’t say a word.”
I gave him a look, not sure of his motives. He was flirtatious for a religious man—that much was obvious. But was he actually hitting on me or was it part of his schtick?
I was pretty sure I was not his type.
“I’ll just follow you home anyway,” he said, nudging me over the edge.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. I hated to give in so easily, but it would be nice to have an escort. I started walking, not even waiting for him to catch up. But somehow, he was already right beside me. I glanced down to stare at his long legs and those heavy boots. I exhaled, realizing that some of the tension I usually felt walking home at night was gone.
Preacher might not be my favorite person, but he was more than adequate as a bodyguard.
True to his word, Preacher didn’t speak. I caught him looking at me a few times, but for the most part, he was quietly scanning the neighborhood, watching and waiting for trouble. I knew nothing about him, I realized. He could be a criminal, for all I knew. But surely, Paul would not have left us in the hands of a criminal?
Unless he was a reformed criminal.
“Are you a criminal?” I blurted.
“Why? Because I ride?”
“There’s just something . . . lawless about you.”
He grunted and didn’t say anything for a minute. I couldn’t believe I had just asked him that. We turned a corner onto a side street. This was my block. It was a dead end but one of the prettiest blocks in the whole neighborhood. The ladies who lived here made an effort. A crew of gregarious old ladies lovingly tended the overflowing flowers and blooming trees. Most of them had lived here since the 1960s. They had seen a lot and they refused to leave. I loved that about them. It was a micro community within an area that was rife with crime.
“This is me,” I said, feeling unsettled. I shouldn’t have asked him if he was a criminal. He was being kind by walking me home. I was suddenly ashamed of myself. I turned to face him and found him staring down at me with a warm look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That was rude of me.”
“You call them like you see them, Cynthia. That’s a good thing, in my book.” He reached out and pushed my hair over my shoulder. “To answer your question, yes. On occasion, I break the law. But I don’t hurt people. Well, unless they really need hurting.”
My jaw dropped open. I’d been right. He was a criminal. But somehow, he was making it sound almost . . . moral.
“Explain to
me exactly how someone ‘needs hurting’,” I said in an outraged voice.
“If they are hurting women. Or killing. I wouldn’t beat someone up for stealing. Of course, if someone throws a punch at me first . . .” He smiled as if he relished the thought of brawling, and I stared, caught off guard by the masculine beauty of his face.
He caught me looking and something darkened in his eyes. He leaned in a little. I leaned in a little . . .
A rat ran across my foot, and I jumped, swallowing my scream. But the truth was, I was relieved. Something disturbing had been happening to me, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
I had come really close to kissing Preacher, of all people.
“Dammit!”
“Good thing you’re wearing sneakers,” he observed.
“You don’t wear sandals in this neighborhood. Not even in July.”
He grunted and looked down at his boots. I followed his gaze. He had huge feet. The man was big everywhere. He was the most physically intimidating person I’d ever seen.
Strangely enough, I didn’t feel the slightest bit intimidated.
“Not an issue for me.”
I nodded, then looked away.
“I’d better get up. Thank you for the escort.”
“Is it safe inside the building?”
I hesitated. Someone had been jumped in the basement a couple of years ago. But it was more or less safe. And I didn’t want to do this awkward dance again in front of my front door. What if I gave into my curiosity and asked him in? Just to ask him about his history of criminal behavior, of course. Not because I was still wondering about what that kiss would have been like.
“Yes. I’m good.” I turned and walked up the steps to my building. “Thanks again.”
“Same time tomorrow,” he said and walked away.
“You don’t have to—” I started to say. But he was already gone. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. For the rest of the night, I was in a funny mood. I had a bemused smile on my face as I made a late supper and took a warm bath. I spent an hour reading for school until my eyes started to drift shut. I was still dreamy eyed as I climbed into bed.
Preacher Page 3