by P. C. Cast
“I do. I’m here on official business.”
Harmony lifted a brow. “What kind of business?”
“Crowd control.”
Before Harmony could ask how the sheriff knew there’d be a crowd at church, Marie, the UPS driver, poked her head in their little huddle. “Where did you hide him, Reverend?”
“Hide who?”
“Your new groundskeeper.”
“You mean Damon?”
Jeanie shook her head as if Harmony was beyond all help. “Yes. Damon. He’s hot. If you haven’t noticed.”
“And if you haven’t noticed,” Maria put in, “you might want to stop by Dr. Fogg’s office and take a gander at the eye chart, because I would say you need those peepers examined.”
“Or get her heart checked to see if she has a pulse,” Jeanie teased.
Harmony supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that it hadn’t taken long for word to get around about Damon. Almost as much as they appreciated the attributes of a good-looking man, the women of Mysteria loved juicy gossip, particularly when the latter concerned the former. Everyone, it seemed, even the pets, had a libido running in constant overdrive. Maybe it was that strange pink pollen. Nevertheless, she mumbled something about it not being professional to view her new employee in that way, which was such an obvious lie that the sheriff’s eyes twinkled in merry amusement.
“Ooh, there he is now.” Maria hurried off to where a small crowd of women had gathered around Damon, watching as he fiddled with a repair to the door frame at the front entrance of the church. Why was he doing that now, of all things, right when services were about to start? He’d been busy with the fence all week, and she’d assumed he’d take Sunday off, which was his free time by rights.
Laughter rang out from the group of women surrounding Damon. He appeared to be charming the panties off them as he ushered them inside. As if he’d sensed she was watching, he turned and caught her gaze. Immediately, his expression changed into something warmer, more personal, telling her that he viewed her differently from the other women.
Differently, because he thinks you’re a nun, Harmony.
Harmony shifted her attention to Bubba, who sat adoringly at Damon’s feet, the cute little traitor. But who could blame the dog? Damon occupied Harmony’s thoughts day and night, too. Especially at night. She’d added an extra two miles to her daily jog, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
Jeanie lowered her voice and spoke in her ear. “If I can tear your attention away from the groundskeeper hunk for a second, I have the information you requested.”
Harmony’s heart skipped a beat as she whirled around. “Damon’s fingerprints.”
“Uh-huh. And I don’t have anything on him.”
“Great!” But Jeanie appeared more troubled than relieved. Harmony frowned. “Isn’t that good?”
“I mean I have nothing on him, Reverend. Nada. Zilch. We ran his prints and not a thing came up.”
“What are you saying—that he doesn’t exist?”
Jeanie spread her hands. “My research went beyond prints. I have friends in high places, and they helped. As far as the government goes, no. He’s never applied for a passport, or registered to vote. He’s never paid taxes, either, but then he’s never held a job that required even the simplest background check. It goes without saying that he’s never seen the inside of a prison—which was what you were worried about, right?”
Harmony thought back to the day it seemed that Damon had literally appeared out of nowhere in the garden. “What if he switched identities? What if he’s a fugitive trying to escape his past?”
“We’d have picked it up. Prints are prints. I had an expert check them out, too, a CIA buddy who owed me a favor. Your hunk’s fingerprints showed no evidence of being altered surgically or by any other method.” The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say, but that he’s clean. Real clean. Count your blessings.”
“I will.” Harmony took a steadying breath. “Speaking of blessings, I’d better get this service started.”
She left the sheriff’s side in a happy daze. “He’s clean,” she whispered to herself. “Real clean.” Her intuition had been right—she wasn’t falling for the devil’s spawn, after all. Next time she had her doubts about anything, she’d listen to her instincts. Thank you, Great-grandmother Eudora!
Harmony breezed past Damon, hitched herself just high enough on her tiptoes as she passed by to whisper in his ear, “Dinner at six-thirty. Inside. Dress nice.”
It would be the first time since the day he’d arrived that she’d invited him to dine in the kitchen. Not knowing if he had a record or not had hardened her resolved to wait before taking the chance. Now, she knew.
The glimpse of his shock slipping quickly into pleasure lingered in her mind as she took the pulpit with true excitement coursing through her. She was finally beginning what she’d come to Mysteria to do. Her smile was contagious: a chain reaction reflected by the happy faces of the townswomen. But when her gaze settled on Damon, who stood in the doorway a few careful steps outside the church, she felt a bolt of pure energy. How could he not be heaven sent?
Harmony raised her hands and belted out a hallelujah. Her heart, filled to bursting in more ways than one, was in every single syllable.
At dusk Damon showed up at her front door with a thick bouquet of wildflowers. He’d showered and combed his hair. Although he had only work clothes to wear, he’d ironed them and she decided that no matter what he wore, everything or nothing at all, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. And tonight he was all hers.
“Thank you,” she sang out, taking the flowers. “They’re beautiful.” The heat in his eyes was especially intense as he took in the sight of her in the red-hot form-fitting sheathe dress she’d bought on impulse in town after the service was over. Sometimes even a pastor had to break the rule of resting on Sundays. “You look very nice tonight, too, by the way.” She came up on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. A nun’s kiss. She wanted more, she thought as she stepped back.
Behave, Harmony. Be professional.
Damon’s whiskey-gold gaze glinted, as if he sensed her inner battle. “You have the devil in your eyes tonight, Damon of Mysteria,” she said, imitating his accent.
He looked suddenly troubled. “Sorry, lass. I dinna mean to.”
“It’s just an expression! You can be so literal, at times.”
He flashed his famous smile, one tinged with relief. “Aye, and tonight you’ve got a bit of the devil in ye, too, I see.”
Because I’m hoping to find a little piece of heaven in your arms.
“Sit, make yourself at home,” she told him while she wedged the flowers into a water-filled glass vase and placed them on the kitchen counter because already the little eating table was half-filled with plates. On the stove in a cast-iron pan, four bone-in country ham slices, each a quarter-inch thick, sizzled in butter. While she finished cooking, she chattered from nervous excitement. The artificial barrier she’d erected between herself and Damon, one held in place by her lingering worries that he was a criminal, had crashed into so much dust. “So, how about that attendance at church today, huh? It’s a miracle! A real miracle.”
“Nay. Take credit where credit is due, Harmony. Word about your church has spread far and wide. ’Twas only a matter of time.”
“Hmm. I’d like to believe it. But where were all the men?”
Damon’s smile faltered. “Were there no males present?” he asked innocently.
“Except for you and Bubba, that crowd was a hundred percent female, and don’t pretend you didn’t notice. It doesn’t make sense. But I guess it’s not gracious to look the Lord’s gift horse in the mouth.”
Especially not with Daddy coming. A robust church community was a source of Faithfull pride. She couldn’t let her family down.
Oh, but they’d be impressed with Damon, though, she thought happily. He was such a gentleman, so much like her brothers. And when all-seei
ng Great-grandmother Eudora stepped through the front door, one look at Damon and she’d see him for what he truly was!
Oh, yes, things were looking up. Yes, indeed.
She tried to forget about the strange gender imbalance at church and instead focused on the pleasure of cooking and Damon’s company.
With a spatula, she flipped the ham steaks. “I’m fixing us ham and red-eye gravy. A Faithfull family favorite. Ever tried it?”
“Nay, lass. But I canna wait.” Damon closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma. Even from the stove, she could see the shudder that rumbled through him.
She couldn’t help laughing. “In all my life, I can’t say I’ve ever had more pleasure cooking for anyone.”
His smile was brilliant, as if he savored her compliments as much as he did his food.
She bustled about the stove, crashing pots and pans onto the burner as she hummed to the music playing on the stereo. Damon watched her with an affectionate, amused gaze that made her heart beat even faster. “My mama made me and my sisters help her with Sunday supper since we were little girls. We’d turn up the radio and listen to our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d dance more than we’d cook, and Mama would scold us.” Harmony gave her butt a defiant little shake. Her tight, red-sheathed butt.
The look on Damon’s face sent heat shooting up and down her spine. Harmony, behave yourself.
Do I have to?
It was almost like being a teenager again, except that the voice of reason she battled was her own.
She turned back to the stove and heard a loud scratching noise behind her. Damon growled, “Trolls—be gone!” Then there was a splash, a prolonged sizzle, and an abbreviated squeak.
Nine
Whirling around, she caught Damon just as he sat back in his chair. He looked shaken and was trying to hide the fact.
Harmony’s brows went up. “What was that? What just happened? What did you mean by a troll?”
Damon flushed. She’d never seen his face color like that before. “’Twas a . . . mouse,” he explained. “We call them trolls in Scotland.”
“Oh.” She pondered that. Then she glanced around her clean kitchen, the spatula gripped in her hand like a weapon. “Where’s the mouse? I haven’t had a problem with mice before.” That’s when she saw the puddle. And on the table, Damon’s empty glass.
“I chased it off,” he explained. “They dinna like water.” As if he were reloading a six-shooter, he refilled his glass from the pitcher on the table.
Harmony stared at the puddle. “That’s weird.”
“What is?”
“The water’s smoking. No, that’s steam.”
“Condensation.”
“Hmm. Well, it is a little humid tonight after that thunderstorm.” Before she could get to the puddle with a dish towel, it had evaporated. Humidity wasn’t the problem. But she wasn’t sure what was. Except that there had been a mouse that Damon called a troll that had disappeared as quickly as the puddle he’d made on the floor.
Keeping her eyes open for rodents, she mixed brown sugar, a half cup of brewed coffee, and a cup of water for the gravy, stirring until the sugar dissolved.
From behind, she heard Damon’s chair scrape backward. Not another one. A splash and a startled squeak signaled a hit. Almost too fast to register on her retinas, something larger than a mouse but smaller than a bunny darted out through Bubba’s doggie door, something that had appeared to run on two legs, not four, though she was sure it was a trick of the eyes.
Delighted barking from outside told her that the puppy had given chase to whatever it was. “Damon, I don’t think they’re mice.”
Panic flashed in his eyes, as if he didn’t want her going down that road. “What else would they be, lass?”
“I mean, I think they’re rats. Why are you acting so worried? Is my hulking, six-foot-five knight afraid of little rodents?”
“Nay.” I am afraid for you, his eyes said.
What a sweetie. He took his role of protector so seriously that it had extended to pest control. She wanted to hug him, but her hands were sticky with sugar. “I don’t like mice, but I’m not afraid of them, Damon. The desert rats we had in Iraq were way worse, and I saw cockroaches in Biloxi that were as big as small horses, so don’t worry about me.” Despite her big talk, she did react with a little shudder as she envisioned mice scampering through the house at night, popping out of the medicine cabinets in the dark, nesting between her bedsheets. “Do you know where they’re coming from?”
“I’ve seen one or two in the barn,” he mumbled.
Where he slept. Again, she shuddered. “I’ll buy some traps tomorrow. Or a cat—a hungry cat! I just want them gone before my family gets here.”
“Trust me, lass. I dinna want the little beasties around, either.” He said it like he meant it, too. She was confident that tomorrow, the rats would be history.
Harmony drizzled gravy over the ham steaks. Red-eye gravy was thin in consistency but potent in flavor. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Careful not to step on any stray creatures, she carried the platter to the table, setting it down amid bowls of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and biscuits.
“Oh, I baked us a special dessert, too.” She carried the cake to the table and announced proudly, “Devil’s food!”
Damon choked on the water he’d just sipped.
“What’s wrong? It’s just chocolate on chocolate, and I know you love chocolate.”
“Aye, I do,” he rasped. “The name—it merely startled me, lass.”
“You’re so darn cute sometimes, Damon of Mysteria.” Tossing aside her apron, she grabbed a book of matches and stood next to his chair to light some candles. He smelled clean, like coconut soap. His skin radiated heat and his personal scent that she found so distracting. She wouldn’t mind a chaste kiss. Get real. She craved a real kiss, a hot, deep, toe-curling kind of kiss, the kind she daydreamed about when she was supposed to be working on her sermons.
His hand slid around her waist. “Cute? I dinna know if I’m that, lass, but ye do make me happy. Very happy.”
He’s never felt like this before. He’s never been this happy. She shook off the strange, unbidden thought. Why were those things jumping into her head? It always seemed to happen when he touched her.
Harmony tried not to think about latent seer genes coming active, and instead turned around in the circle of Damon’s arms and slid her arms over his shoulders. “You make me happy, too.”
They’d never touched like this, so casually, so intimately. It had never been for the lack of wanting to, of course, but suddenly she wondered what in the world she was waiting for when it came to that real kiss she’d been wanting. And so she bent down and brushed her lips over his.
Just a taste, that was all she intended, but his lips were soft . . . warm. Perfect.
Damon made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, opening his mouth to hers as his fingers slid into her hair at the back of her head to bring her closer. Her tongue brushed his, and soon they were kissing more boldly, her hands framing his jaw.
The next thing she knew, she was in his lap with her butt nestled between his hard thighs. Damon didn’t just kiss; he savored her, relished her, drawing out the tender kiss the same way he’d delighted in every morsel of food from the day he arrived. Maybe even more so, made her feel as if she were the best thing he’d ever tasted, that his appetite was endless, insatiable, and that it wouldn’t stop here, that he’d want more and more and . . .
Damon released her like a hot potato. “Good, good, good,” he mumbled into her hair.
Laughing and gasping, Harmony rested her cheek against his jawbone. “Good. It was definitely that. Good, good, good.”
“I dinna disagree. ’Tis why I’m trying to remind myself to behave.”
She rubbed her thumb across his lower lip. “A good man, you are, Damon. A gentleman.”
He glanced away, as if suddenly afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. “I haven’t always been g
ood, Harmony.”
“The corrupt job with the corrupt boss . . .”
“Aye.”
“But you’re starting over. You have a new life.” You’re clean, she almost blurted out, but she couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t admit she’d checked up on him. It seemed a betrayal of everything he’d been so far, which was nothing less than, well, than good. “Only God’s perfect, Damon. The rest of us do the best we can.”
It always amazed her how his smile transformed his face. His bone structure was strong, and he could look almost cruel when his expression was serious, but whenever he grinned, he became so roguishly handsome it took her breath away. “I will always do my best for you,” he said, pulling her close again. “Better than best.”
Folding her in strong arms, he hugged her to his chest for the longest time, as if she somehow anchored him here on earth. The thought made her heart ache when she remembered how lost he seemed when he’d first arrived. Then, he pressed his mouth to her forehead in a kiss so achingly tender that it left her awash in goose bumps all the same.
Bubba crashed through the dog door, and they jumped apart.
“He’s got something in his mouth.” But Harmony only caught a glimpse of the rat-sized thing in Bubba’s mouth before Damon blocked her view with his big hand. “Hey!” She tried peeling his fingers from her eyes. “I want to see.”
“Nay. ’Tis not a pretty sight.” Damon held her head to his chest with his left hand as he threw something with his right. She heard more water splash and a shriek. Did rats shriek? Several pairs of paws scrabbled on the floor. Then two loud swishes of the dog door and a lot of barking told her that whatever Bubba had caught managed to escape.
Harmony wriggled off Damon’s lap. “I’m going after Bubba.”
“Nay, lass. He’ll be fine.”
“What if the rat bites him?”
“The troll—er, rather, the rat—’twill have disappeared underground before the pup catches up.”