by Jodi Thomas
“We just wanted to check on you, Sidney.” Her name still wasn’t comfortable on his tongue, but after what they’d been through, they should be on a first-name basis. “Hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“I’m so glad you dropped by, but there’s no need to worry. I’m fine. I was just relaxing and enjoying the rain.” Several potted plants with huge bows were stuffed in corners. Sliding glass doors ran along one wall of the room, with a screened-in patio beyond. The sunroom area was also lined with potted plants, all in straw baskets with big bows.
She motioned them to two comfortable chairs before she sat on a bench by a small fireplace. “I got home a few hours ago and students have already dropped by to check on me. I’m surprised how fast everyone in town knew about the mishap. My neighbor said flowers started arriving yesterday afternoon.” She pointed at the largest plant. “The mayor sent that.”
Micah placed a basket from the Women’s League on the coffee table. “The ladies at my church knew you’d be having more company than usual and thought you could use coffee and cookies.” The standard gift appeared more personal with the handwritten note sticking out between a bag of coffee and a tin of cookies.
“Thank you.” Sidney smiled with delight. “I’m glad it wasn’t flowers. I’ll have a devil of a time keeping all these alive. My grandmother and mother had talent for gardening, but I’m afraid the gene wasn’t passed to me.”
Micah couldn’t think of much to say, but thankfully Lora seemed to know all the right questions to ask. While he waited, the women talked of hospital food and how long Sidney planned to take off work. Without being obvious, he studied the small paintings clustered on available wall space. Originals, he’d bet. Nothing too modern. But quality, museum quality, if his three-hour course in art appreciation was worth anything. She must have inherited the paintings, for Sidney’s passion was obviously books. Volumes were everywhere, hardback, paperback. Even a tall shelf, circling the ceiling like a border, bowed from the weight of reading material.
Sidney drew Micah back into the group as she laughed, then hesitated. “I had the strangest thing happen late last night. I dreamed a man came into my room and held my hand after he asked me to dinner. I haven’t told anyone for fear they’ll think I’m crazy, but his visit seemed so real.”
Lora moved to the edge of her chair. “Maybe he was real, Sidney,” she whispered. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
Sidney shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I can dream anyway.”
Micah didn’t say anything. He’d had his own share of strange things happening late last night. In fact, Randi Howard had been in the back of his mind all day. He tried to guess at what time she found out he was a minister. Sometime today, someone probably started talking about what happened at the Altman place. After a minute or two they’d mention who was there: the Rogers sisters, Lora and Sidney and a kid doing community service and the preacher. At that point, he could almost hear Randi saying, “What preacher?” in that rich country-and-western voice of hers.
He closed his eyes trying to picture how Randi would react. He’d bet her red hair would fly as she stomped around. She’d probably think about how she talked to him just like he was a regular guy, even flirted with him.
He wondered whether, once she got over her embarrassment, she’d tell anyone about cooking him breakfast. Maybe she’d laugh about the way he’d almost kissed her. He saw it as no sin, but wasn’t sure he wanted half the town hearing about it. Would she tell everyone? Or would she write it off as another drunk trying to grab a kiss at the end of the night shift?
Only he hadn’t been drunk. And he wouldn’t take their time together back even if he knew it would be announced on the evening news.
“Are you ready, Preacher?” Lora tapped his knee.
Micah realized he’d been lost in his own problems and not paying attention.
“You were staring out at the rain as if you were hypnotized.” Lora sounded more sympathetic than scolding.
“Sorry. I was just thinking about something I have to face.” He noticed they had already forgiven him before he could think of an explanation. “I guess the lack of sleep is catching up with me.”
Both women nodded as they stood. When Micah passed the photograph once more, he asked, “Your family?”
Sidney’s smile had a sadness about it. “Yes. I’m the little girl.” She lifted the picture. “That’s my mother, Marbree, and that’s my grandmother, Minnie, standing beside her. I was an only child of an only child. They were nuts about taking pictures of me, but this is the only one I have of the three of us. My father died in Vietnam before I had many memories of him, and my grandfather died before I was born.” She brushed her thumb across the glass in a caress. “We called ourselves the Three Musketeers, my grandmother Minnie, my mom and me.”
When she looked up from the photo, Sidney tried to hold on to her smile. “They were killed in a car wreck a few years ago. They were my only family.”
Micah opened his arms and Sidney stepped into them hesitantly. He knew there was little he could say that would help. He hugged her gently until she straightened and pulled away, thanking him for his kindness with a nod.
“I’m sorry,” Lora whispered.
“It seems a long time ago. I can’t believe I’m allowing it to upset me now.” Sidney led the way to the door. “I guess it’s just the strain of the last twenty-four hours.”
They made plans to hold the next committee meeting in Sidney’s classroom. Lora complained about the rain and ran to her car. Micah waved goodbye to Sidney and walked to his car that still had the faint smell of apricot wine lingering in the damp carpet.
He started the engine and thought about how Randi had shoved him out in the rain last night because she wouldn’t ride back until he’d cleaned up the mess Ada May had made.
Forget about Randi, he thought. He had plenty on his mind already. But the tall, long-legged bar owner had jump-started his heart. It had been so long since he’d felt it beating, he’d almost forgotten about living. He’d been walking around in the fog for three years and he finally found the door. The only problem was, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—step out. He’d lived in the fog too long. It welcomed him home. He belonged there.
He drove through rainy streets, telling himself he’d never take Randi up on that offer for another breakfast, but if he accidentally crossed her path again he’d thank her. She’d reminded him he was still alive.
Dropping by the church, Micah unlocked the back door. Reverend Milburn and Nancy, the church secretary, always left at five, but Micah still had almost an hour to kill before he picked up Logan from Tiger Cubs, so he might as well get some work done.
Logan loved thinking of himself as almost old enough to be a real Boy Scout. Micah knew his son would talk all the way through dinner about every detail of the meeting. After school, the troop planned a tour of the pizza place out by the interstate. All parents were to pick up their sons after six where they could buy a pizza made by their seven-year-old. Logan had promised to save Mrs. Mac two pieces of his, and Micah thought he’d heard his boy say he’d bring the cat a bite.
Flipping on the office light, Micah checked his messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
He thought he heard the back door bang closed again and decided the wind must have caught it. Next time, he’d be more careful shutting the door when the weather was stormy. Micah continued working. He thought of turning on more lights. The rainy day made his normally sunny office gloomy.
Footsteps moved fast down the hallway. He glanced up. Whoever headed his way made no attempt to conceal their arrival. Micah moved around his desk and took one step toward the entrance to his office.
As if the storm had rushed inside, his door swung open with a pop.
Micah stood face to face, eye-to-eye, with Randi Howard.
Her hair flew wild around her, curly with moisture as it had been last night. She wore a Western-cut leather coat with four inche
s of fringe hanging off the shoulders. Angry green eyes reflected the lightning outside. Or, Micah reconsidered, the flashes outside reflected the sparks in her eyes. He couldn’t be sure which.
Micah took a step backward. One thing was certain, Randi had found out about him. “Now, Randi.”
She stomped into the room, her fists rising to her hips.
“I know you’re probably embarrassed.” He inched backward, bumping into his desk. “But there is nothing to be embarrassed or sorry about.”
Before he could think of anything else to say, her hand flew, slapping him so hard his neck twisted.
Never in his life had he been hit in anger. The shock rattled him all the way to his core. It came so unexpectedly, he didn’t think to shield himself. He just stood there, taking the blow full force.
“I’m not embarrassed, Reverend.” She said his occupation like it was a dirty word. “But, I’m real sorry.” She paced, and it crossed his mind she might be backing away to get a running start next time.
He rubbed the side of his face and tried not to think about how beautiful she was, all fiery and wild. “Sorry for slapping me?” he guessed.
“No.” She continued marching back and forth in front of him, her fringe brushing his arm each time she stormed past. “I kind of liked slapping you. But, I’m sorry I let you almost kiss me last night. I couldn’t sleep last night wondering what would have happened—no not wondering,” she corrected. “Knowing what would have happened if I hadn’t backed away.” She pointed at him. “And that kind of thing happening hasn’t happened to me in a long time. I spent the night thinking I was real sorry I didn’t let it happen even though I knew I’d probably regret it come morning.”
Micah tried to follow her reasoning, but was having trouble. Maybe if she’d slow down. Or stopped using the word happen like it was some kind of sexual term he’d missed having explained to him. Maybe if she’d stop moving.
She must have rattled something in his brain. He couldn’t think straight. “Because I’m a minister?”
“Hell, I don’t care if you’re a minister.”
She stopped, and he considered the possibility that she might try to hit him again. He wasn’t sure he was up to turning the other cheek.
“I just don’t like being so attracted to a liar.”
“I didn’t lie to you.” Her words hurt him more than the slap. “The subject just didn’t come up.”
His statement did nothing to calm her. She was off again, a one-woman tornado in his ten-by-ten office. “No, it didn’t come up, did it? You just forgot to tell me you were the minister at the largest church in town. You must have known I’d find out. I hear every detail of everything that happens in this town. I could write the confessions of most of these folks before they had time to tell them to you so you must have guessed I’d find out.”
“Second largest,” he offered. “The Baptists have us beat in numbers. And I’m not the minister, I’m the associate minister. Most of my duties are in teaching and counseling.” He knew he pushed his luck, but he added, “And Methodists don’t take confession.”
She didn’t look like she appreciated his clarification. “Then, Mr. Associate Minister of the second-largest church, why’d you almost curl my toes with the heat between us? Aren’t there enough eligible Bible-thumping women around for you?”
Micah smiled. “We don’t call anybody Bible thumpers. And, yes, there are quite a number of eligible women in the church. None of whom I’m interested in kissing.”
She calmed slightly. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” he countered. “You’re single. What’s wrong with me, a man, being attracted to a beautiful woman like you?”
She jabbed her finger against his chest. “Let me explain something to you, Reverend.”
“Micah,” he interrupted. “Micah with an h.”
She poked him again. “All right, Micah with an h. Let me explain the facts to you. You know when you were growing up and your mother told you to stay away from the wrong crowd?”
“I remember.” He smiled, guessing where she headed.
“Well, I’m the wrong crowd.” She took a long calming breath. “I own a bar. You run a church. I’m so far into the wrong crowd, I’m surprised we speak the same language.”
“So, we’re never to speak to each other again?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. It appeared she didn’t like that idea any more than he did.
“We’ll just act like we never met, Randi. Like we never talked. Is that how you want it?” He waited for her answer.
When she remained silent, he added, “I don’t know if I can lie to myself enough to act as if I didn’t connect with you.” He watched her. In the stillness, he heard her breathing. “You’re the most real person I’ve met in a long time. Do you know what I mean?”
To his surprise, she nodded once.
“It felt good to just be together last night, even if we were putting two old-maid drunks to bed and cleaning up their mess.” He waited, then added, “I liked meeting you. I like being near you.”
She shifted, her stare never leaving his eyes. “Maybe, if we’re careful, we could just be friends. I’d like that. Can’t say I’ve got many in this town.”
Micah leaned on his desk and folded his arms. “What are you suggesting? Being friends won’t be easy. We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”
She sat down, anger disappearing as quickly as it sparked. Lifting her red boots, she placed them on the desk and crossed her long legs an inch from where he sat. “I liked talking to you last night. I like being with you. But there can be nothing between us. No kissing. You and I are both old enough to know that it wouldn’t stop with a kiss. What I saw in your eyes was a promise. I’m not in the habit of starting something I don’t plan to finish. So talking is as far as we’ll be traveling.”
“Where would we meet to do this talking?” He couldn’t see her walking into the church socials, and he couldn’t make a nightly stop at the bar. They could hardly meet for breakfast since he ate at seven, and she cooked after midnight. Walks were out. Everyone in town would see them. Sneaking around wasn’t his style. Family dinners didn’t seem hers.
“I don’t know.” She bumped his leg as she swung her boots to the floor and leaned forward. “Maybe we shouldn’t, but in a strange way, I don’t want to say goodbye to you just yet. The way I see it, we got nothing in common except that we’re both bored to death talking to everyone else we know.”
He laughed. She was right. Most days, he had the same conversations over and over. Sometimes, he felt as if he could just put his mouth on automatic pilot and not miss a beat. But with Randi, he had to stay on his toes. He had to listen. He had to be present in his life.
“Could I stop by for breakfast after closing some night? I usually run late after I put my son to bed.” He couldn’t believe he was asking such a thing. All night, he’d thought about how good it felt to talk with her. To be with her. Maybe part of it might be that they were an unlikely pair, but mostly it was her. Randi Howard was unlike any woman he’d ever met.
“If you’ll be honest with me from now on,” she answered, “we could give it a try.”
“All right, then, I’d better start with the honesty part first. I’m not sure I want to be just friends, but I’ll settle for it for now.”
Randi stood. She leaned so close he could feel the heat of her body. “Honest enough. But I’d better be straight with you. I don’t think I can be any more than just friends to a man…any man. I’ve been burned so many times, I’m starting to look like the poster child for broken hearts. It’ll take some time before I can even think about offering more.”
“Fair enough.” He kept his arms folded. Everything about this woman made him want to be closer to her.
“Eggs over-easy, steak and beer, any night you’re interested. The back door will be open if you come by. You can walk through to my office if you don’t see me in the kitchen. You know the way.” S
he leaned until her breasts rested lightly atop his folded arms and kissed his cheek. “Sorry I slapped you.” She straightened. “But you deserved it, Reverend.”
“Could you call me Micah?”
“Why?”
“I like the way you say my name.”
“All right, Micah. See you one midnight for breakfast.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sidney Dickerson had been dozing in her chair when the telephone rang. She jumped, sending the book on her lap flying across her living-room floor and into the potted plant the mayor had sent.
“Hello?” She noticed the news was on the TV she’d muted hours ago. It had to be after ten.
“I’m sorry, did I call too late?”
Sidney tried to place the voice. “Oh, no. I’m still up,” she lied.
“I just wanted to check on you, Professor Dickerson. Make sure you have everything you need.”
His voice sounded familiar. But from where? She mentally went down the role of faculty as she said, “I have everything. Thank you. Everyone has been so kind.” She felt like a fool, but she asked, “May I ask who is calling?”
The man laughed, low and rich, like a man who keeps his humor close to his chest. Sidney thought of what Lora Whitman had said about her having a secret admirer. Foolish, Sidney reminded herself as she straightened and waited. Women almost forty didn’t have such things.
“Sorry,” he answered. “I’m Sloan McCormick. I had a meeting scheduled with you at your office yesterday afternoon, and I’m afraid you stood me up.”
Sidney believed him. The department secretary often made appointments for professors during their scheduled office hours. She had no doubt that there would be a note posted on her door or in her box when she returned to work. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make it to my office yesterday. Something happened. I assure you it was not intentional.”