by Clare Revell
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
He stopped and turned to face her. “Maggie, does my past bother you?”
Her breath hung in the cold air. “It’s not that so much, it’s…” She started walking again. “Never mind. Are you seeing your family over Christmas?”
He went with her change of topic—for now. “My parents are coming to stay on the twenty-fourth. Mum’s all excited about my first Christmas as a pastor and wants to be here. They should arrive in time for the morning service.”
“That’ll be nice.” She winked. “So, are you cooking Christmas dinner? Or are you going to get your mum to do it?”
Carson snorted. “It’ll be ready meals.”
“You can’t do that.” She sounded horrified. “You have to do roast turkey with all the trimmings.”
They reached the park and let the dogs off the leads. “Honestly? I have never cooked a roast in my life. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Seriously?”
Under normal circumstances, he would have laughed at the comical expression of horror on her face. But that wasn’t a good idea at the present time. He slipped a ball from his coat pocket and gave it a firm throw, watching Pilot bound after it. “Seriously, my specialty is beans on toast. Or I eat out. Or heat up a ready meal.”
“You need some cooking lessons pronto.”
“Are you offering?” He reached out and took hold of her hand.
“Are you asking?”
“Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Then, yes, I’m offering.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll teach you a full roast and a few other simple dishes you can adapt. Like shepherd’s pie. The meat for that is also the basis of lasagna and spaghetti bolognaise. Casseroles, stews, and savory crumble are mainly the same thing as well.”
“Really? Crumble? For dinner?”
“You use cheese instead of sugar,” she laughed. They started walking again, her hand still loosely in his. “Trust me, it works. Then there’s toad in the hole, risotto, curry, soup…all manner of easy stuff.”
Carson laughed. “Easy for you to make, maybe.”
“Trust me. Your mum will think you’re a chef by the time we’re done.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll start tonight. What do you have in the way of food?”
Carson hesitated. “Umm…beans, bread and ready meals.”
Maggie rolled her eyes at him, which was actually kind of cute. “I see. Then I’ll go shopping and get enough for a week. Is there anything you can’t eat?”
“Mushrooms.”
“I don’t eat them either, so that’s easy.”
Before he realized the time gone by, they were back at the house and Maggie was unlocking her car. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Sure.” He waved as she drove off and then looked down at Pilot. “How did we get talked into cooking lessons? On the plus side, I get to spend lots of time with Maggie. And Mum won’t think I’m completely useless.”
****
Maggie wandered around the supermarket. Did Carson like peppers and onions, and what about peas and sweet corn? In the end, she put them all in the trolley, figuring if he didn’t want them, then she’d keep them.
By the time she was finished, the canned carols were beginning to irritate her; but not as much as the kid in the trolley in front of her in the queue. He’d already eaten one bag of crisps, from the unpaid shopping behind him, and was nagging his mother to give him another one. His mother didn’t hesitate before taking a bar of chocolate from the display by the checkout and giving it to him.
Maggie’s mind went back to Carson and what he’d said about robbing the bank. Stealing wasn’t simply big things like banks; it was little things, too. Even so, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything that bad. She shook her head. She didn’t even want to imagine him with a gun, never mind using it.
Her Carson wasn’t that man. He was the man who preached on a Sunday, helped organize the nativity. The man she knew stood up for her and took a beating for her. He wasn’t a thug with a past that her father would hate. A past that she was—
Something niggled in the dark recesses of her memory. Something she’d tried very hard to forget. She forced her mind to change track and packed the groceries into her own cloth shopping bags. She’d included a few things that Carson could cook from frozen, but wasn’t a meal on a plate.
Her phone rang as she reached the car. “Hello.”
“Margaret.” Her heart froze. Only one person called her that, aside from her mother. And that was only with her middle and surname attached when she was in trouble.
“What do you want, Wesley?”
“You do know who you are getting involved with, don’t you?”
“I’m not involved with anyone.”
“Really?” His tone mocked her. “Carson Armitage is bad news. Stay away from him, or else.”
“I have to go.” She hung up and shoved her phone into the bottom of her handbag.
When she arrived at Carson’s she was still stressed. She pulled half the shopping from the boot of the car and headed up the path. She dumped the bags and rang the bell. She was halfway back to the car when she heard the door open.
“Playing thunder and lightning, are we?” Carson’s voice carried his customary laugh.
“We called it knock down ginger, and we never left gifts,” she tossed over her shoulder. She lifted the last two bags from the car and locked it. She glanced nervously behind her before heading back up the path.
He studied her with his normal careful gaze. “Are you all right? You look anxious.”
“Maybe I am a little. Work is flat out right now, but it’s Wesley. He just won’t accept it’s over and keeps calling.”
“Want me to have a word?” He kicked the door closed behind them.
“No, he’ll get the message eventually.”
He looked at the bags she had in addition to the ones he carried. “However much did you buy?”
“I got enough to feed you for a couple of weeks.” She smiled. “Figured I’d teach you how to make spaghetti bolognaise tonight.”
“That sounds good. You’ll stay to share it, I hope.”
She paused briefly, and then nodded. “That would be good, thank you.”
6
Maggie had never had such an enthusiastic pupil. Carson learned quickly and was blessed with an ability to find humor in almost any situation. And he wasn’t a half bad cook. She glanced over at him. With sleeves rolled to his elbows, flour coating his hands and tanned forearms, all he really needed was an apron and a hat. Surprisingly he had a light touch when it came to pastry, and had taken her teasing about being in the wrong profession in good nature.
Carson wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing flour over his face. “Am I doing this right?”
“No, you missed a bit.” She giggled.
He looked down at the counter, glancing over the neatly rolled out pastry. “Where? It looks fine to me.”
“Here,” she laughed and smeared the flour across the one clean part of his face.
“Oy.” He chuckled and grabbed her wrist. Twisting her lightly against his firm body, his right arm tightly around her waist, he proceeded to wipe his left hand over her face. “There. Now you’re just as messy as I am.”
Maggie froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse pounded in her neck. Fear rippled through her. “C-C-Carson…”
“I’m sorry.” He let go of her. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?”
She wrapped her arms around herself, and took two paces away from him, keeping her face averted. Tears burned briefly before she blinked them away. Terror and panic knotted her stomach and set her blood hammering in her ears. Every part of her screamed run, but she didn’t. She had to face her fear head on. “No,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “N—no you didn’t hurt me.”
“Maggie?”
As she turned, his face fell.
“Oh, I’m
sorry, I scared you.” His hand gently reached out and took hold of hers. “I would never hurt you. I was playing.”
“No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.” She shivered. “Something happened, a long time ago. For a moment, I…”
His hand cupped her face, his gaze held hers. “I’d never hurt you,” he whispered. “Not even in jest.” His thumb rubbed her cheek. “You’re all floury.”
“So are you.” For a second she thought he might kiss her. His lips were inches from hers, his breath warm on her cheek, but the memories were so close to the surface, so close to breaking loose, she knew she’d lose it if he did.
She pulled back. “So, once you’ve put the lid on, you seal it and then bake it.”
“How do I seal it?” he asked, turning back to the pie dish.
Maggie showed him and then turned to wash her hands. Concentrate, Maggie. That was a long time ago. It’s over, done with and you’re better than this.
Carson brought the dirty utensils to the sink where she stood. “I was wondering if you’d go out with me.”
She tilted her head. “As in a date?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “And I’m not simply trying to make up for frightening you, though I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Dinner somewhere romantic, a walk by the river. Maybe get you on the back of my bike.”
A small smile crossed her face. “Doesn’t that fall into the scaring me witless category?”
He chuckled. “I’m not that bad a driver.”
Maggie swallowed. Trust had to start somewhere, right? And she couldn’t deny she had feelings for this man. “OK. When were you thinking?”
“How about tomorrow? Let someone else do the cooking and clearing up.”
****
The bike looked even bigger close up and Maggie’s heart pounded just at the thought of it. How was she meant to stay balanced on it? Then her heart stopped completely at the sight of Carson in his leathers, a helmet in each hand. His lithe body was encased in black leather trousers and jacket, with studs and zips.
She took the helmet he handed her, watching mesmerized as he slid his onto his head. Then he eased one leg over the 833cc engine, black paintwork gleaming in the street light. “Come on, it won’t bite. Helmet on first.”
Maggie put the helmet on as she took hesitant steps towards the huge bike. How on earth was she meant to sit astride that? Taking a deep breath, she hoisted herself up and across the bike.
“That’s it. Now put your arms around my waist and hang on tightly.”
The engine roared into life and the metal beneath her shuddered as Carson pulled away from the curb. She clung onto him, scared she’d fall as he leaned almost to the ground as the bike flew around corners.
When he finally stopped and parked, she found herself unable to let go. His hands touched hers, and she realized he’d taken off his gloves. A glance up confirmed his helmet was off too, and he had twisted to look at her. “You can let go now.”
She nodded. Somehow, she unfastened her fingers from their tight grip on his waist and slid off the bike. Her legs were shaky, and she would have fallen had not Carson caught her.
“Are you all right?”
She pulled the helmet off and shook her hair. “Yeah.”
His hand moved through her hair, easing out the knots the helmet had put in it. “That’s better.” His other hand slid to her waist, slowly pulling her against him. Maggie shivered at the firmness of his body, the gentle way he held her and his smile sent her even weaker at the knees than she already was.
His head tilted, almost taking her by surprise, as his lips brushed against hers. Rivers of pleasure swept over her as she closed her eyes. It was as if she left the ground. His touch sent her spiraling upwards, stars spinning around her. Light pressure on her lips that she yielded to without thought, feather touches that worked across her jawline and down her neck.
She gasped, overwhelmed, her hands gripping him tightly. She had never been kissed like that before. By anyone.
Carson pulled back, not letting go of her. His smile lit his eyes and his face like a beacon. “Shall we go and eat?”
Maggie nodded and leaned into him as they walked. What did this mean? Did he like her? Was it more than like? One thing she did know and that was in the six months she was with Wesley, he had never kissed her. Not even a peck on the cheek. And she’d only known Carson a week.
****
By Sunday, Carson had mastered several meals and had filled several more notecards with instructions on how to use those basics to make new things. He was attempting a roast today. It seemed easy enough. Turn the oven on at half past nine, put the meat in, and leave. He had frozen veggies and roast potatoes which needed to go on when he got home. Nothing could go wrong, bar him preaching for too long and burning the meat to a cinder.
The church was already more than half full when he arrived. How many had come because of his ‘accident’, wanting to hear firsthand what he’d done? At least the swelling had gone down and the bruises were fading, largely thanks to Maggie’s arnica cream. He kept the beard as he’d gotten used to it over the years.
Nate walked up to him. “Morning. How are you doing?”
“Fine, how are you?”
“Busy at work. Christmas seems to bring all the idiots out.” Nate frowned. “That eye still looks bruised. He really must have hit you hard.”
Carson shrugged. “I’ve had worse, as well you know. And the bloke could have been armed.” He turned and smiled at the elderly lady approaching him. “Hello, Mrs. Taylor. How’s that new grandson of yours?”
He managed to keep smiling as a steady stream of people asked the same questions over and over. By the time he reached the pulpit he’d resolved to start the service by telling the congregation that rumors of his death had been greatly exaggerated. He dropped his rucksack onto the chair and pulled his Bible and sermon notes from it. The notes went onto the lectern and he picked up the mic and battery pack. He clipped the lapel mic to his tie and slid the battery case into his trouser pocket.
Grabbing his Bible, he made his way down from the pulpit and into the vestry for prayer with the elders before the service began. He sat and crossed his legs to wait for upwards of three others to join him. Somehow he wasn’t surprised when the entire eldership came in and sat on the chairs. “Morning.”
Frank Diamond looked at him. “Nate said it was an accident, but I heard differently.”
“Oh?” So that was how they were going to play it. Straight in for the kill.
“My niece works in the restaurant you were in last Sunday. She said it was a fight.”
Carson sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “A one sided fight. I didn’t raise a hand to him. He walked up to the lady I was having lunch with and grabbed hold of her. I asked him to stop. He didn’t. So I asked him again and he hit me.”
“That was no lady. That was Maggie Turner. See, I knew your past would be a problem. That’s why I spoke against your appointment in the first place.”
“My past has nothing to do with this.” He wasn’t surprised by that either. Frank had made no attempt to hide his dislike. And his hackles rose at the comment about Maggie, but this wasn’t the time or place to mention it.
Frank turned to Nate. “You’re a cop. You must have known the truth. What do you think?”
Nate didn’t flinch. “You know I can’t possibly comment on that, Frank. It’s not my case. And if it was, I wouldn’t be allowed to say anything.”
Carson narrowed his eyes. “I’m not pressing charges anyway, so that’s an end of it.”
“Until next time,” Frank muttered.
“There won’t be a next—”
“You can’t guarantee that, Pastor,” Frank cut in. “An ex-con leading the church is a mistake. Pastor Jack should never have gone away.”
Carson’s hands shook as they tightened on his Bible. What could he do? What should he say?
Frank shook his head and pushed to his feet. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to play this.” He flew out of the vestry, letting the door slam behind him.
Carson closed his eyes. Oh, God, what do I do if the elders don’t trust me?
Nate began reading. “For all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God…”
Carson’s eyes burned. He stood and left by the side door. Thoughts and conflicting emotions raged rampant through him, waging a battle he was ill-equipped to fight. He stood in the corridor between the church and the hall, his chest heaving and stomach churning. He shouldn’t be here.
Maggie came through from the classrooms and crèche and stopped by his side. “Carson?” Her voice echoed as if coming from a great distance. “Carson?”
He fought to focus his eyes on her.
“What’s wrong?” Concern filled her gaze and voice. Concern he didn’t deserve.
“I can’t do this.” He looked down at his shoes.
“Do what?”
“Even the elders are…” He broke off as Nate ran into the hallway. He was obviously searching for him in the hope of getting him to stay and preach. Well, that wasn’t about to happen. Not under any circumstances.
“Not all the elders,” Nate told him. “I’m going to lead, but I need you to preach.”
Carson shook his head. “And if everyone else feels the same? I should go, now.”
Maggie took his hand and squeezed it. “You can’t leave. Otherwise Nate will have to be the donkey and he won’t like that.” She paused. “Not funny?”
“There’s only one donkey around here. Although right now the American term would fit better. What am I doing here?” He pulled off the mic and shoved it and the battery pack at Nate. “Find someone to preach. My notes are in the pulpit. I quit.”