Middle of Knight (5 page)

“Oh my gosh!” She hunched down as the puppy waddled over to her. Jessica picked him up and hugged him to her. “I love it … her … him?”

“Him.” Luke stood with a smile that showed his pleasure with her reaction and probably himself as well.

“You got me a puppy? No one has ever done something like this for me before,” she spoke with the classic high-pitched puppy/baby voice. Holding the puppy out in front of her, she continued to baby talk it a few inches from its face. “What am I going to name you, huh?”

“He already has a name.”

“Oh really?”

Luke moved closer to her and took the puppy, holding it with one hand and petting it with his other. “Yes, I already named him.”

“Please tell me it’s not Spot.” She leaned in and kissed its head.

“No … it’s Jones.”

Knight

W
ith the arrival
of Tuesday came an agglomeration of nerves sparked by a lethal mix of hormones and the anticipation of seeing Father Jackson Knight. Ryn’s dormant sex life didn’t help matters, neither did Jillian saying he would like her. Why would he like her? Perhaps there was a shortage of young perfect-bodied women in Omaha.

She knocked on the door, hoping Jillian would answer. Ryn deemed it best to ease into Jackson’s intensity. No such luck. His Holiness appeared before her, inviting her into the gates of Heaven. Granted, she was there to tidy up the grounds of eternity, but hey, it was Heaven and that’s all that mattered.

“Ryn Middleton.” He made her name sound dirty with a wicked smile on his face while his eyes moved along her body.

It evoked all kinds of feelings: good, bad, and maybe even sinful. What was the punishment for tempting a man of God? The makeup she decided to apply at the last minute may have been a bad idea. She sucked at subtle. Everything about her said lonely, sex-deprived, and easy.

Her shorts felt extra short under his gaze as she flexed the muscles in her legs, hoping it would tighten the appearance of her skin that had lost some of its elasticity. Forty would suck.

“Jackson … or … is it okay if I call you that?” Ryn wasn’t Catholic. Did he expect her to address him as Father Knight?

He gave her a funny look, his smile still beaming with intensity. “Jackson is fine.” He stepped aside and let her in.

“No lesson today?” She headed straight to the first bathroom. Nothing good could come from standing around looking at him.

“No. I rescheduled my Tuesday afternoon students.” He followed her.

“Oh, I hope not on my account. I clean quietly with the exception of vacuuming.”

“It was no big deal. Now you don’t have to worry about being quiet. It’s just the two of us.”

She pulled on her gloves. “Oh … okay.”

Just the two of them and she didn’t have to be quiet. Why was her mind in the gutter?

“Do you want me to turn on some music for you?”

She scrubbed the toilet bowl. “Uh … sure.”

“What type of music do you like?”

She glanced back at him. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Her gaze stuck to his tattoos. “Whatever. Classical, gospel, piano … or even organ music if you prefer.”

“So, no alternative, rock and roll, or rap?”

She wiped her brow with her arm and continued scrubbing. He brought the room temperature up a good ten degrees with the mix of his presence and the third-degree questioning.

“No, I try to avoid anything that’s not … up lifting. Most songs on the radio these days are all about sex and other, um … sinful stuff.” Her favorite song in high school was George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” If he didn’t hurry up and leave, she’d pass out from the heat or confess her sins and beg for forgiveness. Ideally, she just wanted to keep her dignity, clean their house, and get the hell or
heck
out of there.

“So you’re religious?”

No. She stopped going to church when she got pregnant out of wedlock. “I’m a believer.” It was true, even if she no longer possessed a certainty of those beliefs. Everyone believed in something.

“I have a shitload of scripture in my head that’s been drilled into me over the years. Sorry, I meant a lot … not a shitload. Hope I didn’t offend you.”

She tipped her chin down to bite back a smile. “No offense taken. I’m sure you’re more than covered in the area of forgiveness for that minor sin.”

“Are you and your husband originally from Nebraska?”

Her body stiffened. Even then, years later, the word husband made her flinch.

“I’m … not married.” Divorce elicited scowls of disapproval in the religious world, she’d save that topic for later or preferably never. “And I’m originally from Atlanta.”

“I see, well … I’ll let you do your thing. Maybe I’ll just play the piano. Any requests?”

She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

*

The woman who
could be a game changer wasn’t married. That was good, but her anti-sex, gospel-music-playing personality presented a bit more of a challenge than he anticipated. Jackson had committed to not being a man whore, but that didn’t mean he’d submitted his application for sainthood.

He played one classical piece after another, tracking her every move as she floated around scrubbing, dusting, mopping, and sweeping. She finished in the main room as if to not disturb him until she had no other choice. They smiled politely at each other as she dusted Black Beauty. God, he loved her eyes and the way she incessantly wet her lips if he stared too long.

She squatted down, disappearing beneath the piano. “I’m just dusting the legs and pedals … I uh, don’t want to you think I’m trying to do anything inappropriate here.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t stop you if you were.”

“Ouch!” she seethed after a loud thump.

He leaned down to look at her. “Are you okay?”

Balancing on her knees and one hand while her other hand rubbed her head, she squinted her eyes a bit. He tried to focus on her head but the view down her shirt to her pink sports bra and just a tease of cleavage, which also had a smattering of freckles, enticed him in a sex-deprived way. By the time he tore his eyes away from her breasts, she stared at him in shock. Clearly, he’d offended her.

“Do you need an icepack?” He sat up with a guilty grimace. Jillian would kill him if their cleaning lady quit on the first day, claiming sexual harassment.

Ryn crawled out and stood, one hand still on her head, the other pressing the neck of her shirt firm to her chest. “I’ll be fine.” She focused on the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but him. “I’m going to run the vacuum and then I’ll be done.”

He relocated to the kitchen while she vacuumed. Time evaporated faster than his mind could conjure a plan. He had to think of something to say before she left and most likely would never come back.

Tick-tock, he grimaced with defeat as she shut off the vacuum and wound up the hose and cord.

“Mother fucking idiots!” Jillian grumbled, opening the front door.

Ryn’s eyes popped out of her head. Jackson closed his. He no longer needed to worry about being the responsible party for Ryn quitting. Jillian swooped in just in time to take that honor with her sailor’s tongue.

“Oh, hey, Ryn.” Jillian stepped inside, holding the screen door open with the backside of her body while she smacked the soles of her shoes together. “I hate it when they spread those stupid fertilizer pellets then takeoff without using a broom or blower on the driveway and sidewalk. Now they’re stuck like shit to the bottom of my shoes and if it rains they’ll discolor the cement.”

“Jill … not the best word choice.” He gave Ryn an apologetic look. She returned one that looked just as pained.

“Sorry, I always say that wrong. They’ll discolor the concrete … I know, cement is the powdered form. It’s like the whole itch versus scratch thing.” She shut the door and looked up. “So how’d it go today?”

Ryn forced a smile. “Fine. Look around after I leave and let me know if there’s something I missed or that you’d like me to do different next time.”

Jackson sighed with relief from the promise of next time.

“Thanks, Ryn.” Jillian held the door open. “Jesus, Jackson, don’t just stand there. Help her take her stuff out.”

“Oh yeah.” He jumped out of his daze and grabbed the other bucket and vacuum.

“Sorry about your head.” He handed her the rest of the supplies as she loaded everything into the back of her white RAV4.

“It was my fault.” She closed the back door and leaned against it with her arms trapped behind her. “You caught me off guard when you said…” she glanced up with a sheepish look “…what you did.”

Wearing a guilty half-smile, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Yeah, I was completely out of line.”

“It’s fine. I applaud you for your commitment. A vow of celibacy at your age must be difficult sometimes.”

Jackson bent down, cocking his head to bring his ear closer to her face. “
What
did you just say?”

“I said it must be difficult,” she answered with breathy words, eyes on his mouth.

“No, before that.” He squinted.

She mirrored his expression. “The part about me commending you for your commitment to God?”

“What commitment to God?”

Her eyes darted to one side and then the other before meeting his again. “Uh … the vow of celibacy.”

“Who told you about that?”

Ryn’s body sank until the bumper halted her descent. “Jillian,” she replied in a small voice.

“She told you I took a vow of celibacy?”

Ryn nodded as her nose scrunched.

“So you thought what? That I’m a priest or something?”

Another uncomfortable nod.

Jackson stepped back, giving her space. The dots connected themselves. “Tell me … did you go to church last weekend?”

Ryn shook her head, eyes wide.

“The weekend before that?”

Another shake.

Jackson chuckled. “Give me your keys.” He held out his hand.

“Why?”

“Just give them to me.”

She set them in his hand. Fear painted her face in crimson as he slid in the front seat and turned the key. The radio blared with Adam Levine complaining about the summer hurting like a motherfucker.

Ryn covered her face with her hands. Jackson stepped out and peeled them away. She kept her eyes set firm to the driveway.

“Doesn’t sound like gospel to me.”

She shook her head. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He bent down and whispered in her ear. “See you next week,
my child
.”

*

After a cold
shower to relieve the flush of embarrassment and to temper her riled up libido, Ryn grabbed an iced tea, a good book, and planted her ass on her front porch swing with Gunner at her feet. The day would go down in history as: Ryn is An Idiot Day. Somewhere between graduating high school, getting pregnant, and marrying Satan, she lost her normalcy gene. Preston physically beat it out of her, leaving a wreckage of insecurity, fear, and social awkwardness like an abused animal whose tail never wagged.

“Hey, Ryn. How was your day?” her neighbor, Drew, asked as he walked up the sidewalk from his mailbox.

“I’ve had better,” she answered on a laugh.

Her handsome forty-something neighbor leaned against the railing to her porch steps. “Sounds like a story.”

She teased Gunner’s ear with her toes and smiled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“If not for religious reasons, why would a guy take a vow of celibacy?”

Drew chuckled, scratching his head then leaving his salt and pepper hair a bit ruffled. He was Dermot Mulroney’s twin, especially that sexy crooked smile.

“I thought maybe you were going to ask me why the clover seems to be taking over our lawns this year.”

“Yeah, that too, but first answer the celibacy question.” She grinned.

“Okay, well maybe the guy has STDs or he’s afraid of getting them. Maybe he has an unhealthy attachment to sex or …”

“Or what?”

A sadness stole Drew’s handsome features. “Maybe he lost a lover.” Cancer stole Drew’s wife a year earlier.

“Drew, I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. It’s fine.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But it could be the reason.”