Perfecting Kate
Page 34
“Confusion?” He gives my hand a squeeze. “I can’t imagine anyone confusing you with that sweet little woman.” Before I fully register that his comment wasn’t a compliment, he lowers his gaze and draws out a smile. “Nice tattoo.”
Somehow I manage to keep from clapping a hand over what was revealed when my short sleeve rode up.
“Leftovers,” I mutter and pull my hand free. Dropping my arm to my side, I inwardly sigh as the sleeve slips down to hide the crown of thorns circling my upper arm.
“Leftovers?” McCray’s smile widens. “As in PK?”
He knows I’m a Preacher’s Kid? I jerk my chin up, though not too far, as he’s only a few inches taller than my five foot nine.
“Or, more accurately …” he hikes an eyebrow into a gathering of curls on his brow, “… PKS?”
And he knows about Preacher’s Kid Syndrome.
“Exactly who are you?” The abrasive question is out before I can think better of it, but I don’t care.
“Maddox is a consultant.” Pastor Paul steps forward with the air of someone about to referee a fight.
“Consultant?” I repeat, knowing I am not going to like the answer.
“Yes, First Grace has hired him—”
“First Grace hired him?”
Now Pastor Paul looks like he’s the one about to go head-to-head with the preacher’s kid. However, a glance in Maddox’s direction causes his jaw to ease.
Wishing I’d caught the look that passed between them, I clench my hands.
“Yes, Harri.” Such measured calm! “The board has approved and budgeted for a consultant.”
The board, which didn’t leak a word to me. Of course, it’s no longer my father’s board, as the faithful dozen have been weeded and replaced with younger members “handpicked” by Pastor Paul—and with the blessing of my father who convinced several of the older board members to step aside. Now only five of the faithful remain—a minority.
“And exactly what’s this consultant supposed to do?” I ask as if said consultant isn’t present.
Yes, I’m revving up to be difficult. And I know that I should back off. That—
“Maddox is here to observe the staff and workings of our church.” Pastor Paul crosses his arms over his chest. “Once he understands where we’re at, he’ll help us map where we need to go and how to get there.”
He will, will he?
I look to Maddox McCray, one of those new-fangled church growth consultants who thinks that without a fasten-your-seat belts Gospel delivery system, we’re just a bunch of backward, puddle jumping, tobacco chewing—
Stop it, Harri! You are at stake here, and so is God. Above all, try not to disappoint Him any more than you’ve already done. Show a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Unfortunately, the best I can do is dumb it down. I wish I could take a big pink eraser to McCray’s self-assured mouth, not to mention those loose curls that give him a deceptively boyish look. “I suppose you had something to do with the decision to junk our organ.”
“Actually, that was me,” Pastor Paul says with … regret? “And according to Maddox, I went about it the wrong way.”
He did? And he’s admitting it? And it was this new-fangled consultant who made him see the error of his ways?
I narrow my gaze on Maddox, to which he raises his eyebrows. Something’s not right here. But before I can question it, the screen door squeaks.
“Oh, my girl!” A tin of biscuits in one hand, Harriet halts inside the doorway. “What have you gone and done now?”