Flirting with Texas (Deep in the Heart of Texas) (12 page)

Jenna walked over and flopped down next to him. “Why those wily coyotes,” she muttered.

“ ‘Wily’ ain’t the word I’d use,” Moses Tate said, causing Jenna to jump. He tipped his hat up, blinking in the bright sun. “Blame fools is more like it. They never did know how to use the old noggin.”

“Do you think I could borrow your truck, Moses?” she asked.

“You in a hurry to leave town, Jenna Jay?”

“After Kenny’s stunt, I should be. But I think I’ll stick around for a couple days. I just wanted to take a little drive.”

“Any place in particular?”

Jenna did have somewhere in particular in mind. She just didn’t think Moses needed that information. “Just a drive.”

Moses nodded. “Welp, I wish I could help you out, but I already loaned out my truck.”

A loud grinding of gears had both of them looking down the street. A beat-up Ford pickup headed toward them, jerking and sputtering like a cat coughing up a hairball. With sunlight reflecting off the windshield, Jenna couldn’t tell who drove the truck until it was almost to them. She released her breath in a groan as the truck pulled up to the curb.

Resting an arm on the open window, Beau gave Jenna a twinkly-eyed once-over.

“Care for a ride, Cowgirl?”

P
ASTOR
S
EAN
R
OBBINS STOOD AT
the window of his office and watched as Jenna Jay Scroggs climbed into Moses Tate’s truck. He was curious about why Beauregard Cates was driving the truck, but his curiosity was dimmed by his joy at seeing Jenna Jay home. Her mother had talked to Sean about their falling out and he hoped that Jenna Jay’s appearance meant their disagreement had been resolved. He had done everything he could to try to soothe Jenna’s fears about her daughter marrying a tattooed band member, including giving more than a few sermons on accepting the differences in others.

Turning from the window, Sean sat back down at his desk. Unfortunately, there was nothing there to occupy his mind. Tuesdays were the slowest day of the week. Technically, it should be his day off, but there was little to do in the small town except hang out at the house the townsfolk had provided for him. And he didn’t like being home. It was too lonely. The large family room, country kitchen, and big bedrooms all called out for a horde of children and a wife.

None of which Sean had.

Although more and more lately, his mind had been filled with thoughts about marriage and starting a family. He just wasn’t about to find a wife in Bramble. Not when he had no intention of remaining in Texas. He had learned a lot from pastoring the small church and had come to love his congregation. But he was a California boy, born and raised, and he couldn’t wait for God to send him back to the West Coast.

Sean had to admit that the Lord was taking His good sweet time. Sean had put in for a transfer months ago and had yet to hear a thing. Searching for guidance, he reached for his worn-out bible that sat on the corner of the desk and flipped it open. He glanced down, and a verse in Hebrews jumped out at him.
“That ye be not slothful, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises.”

Sean glanced up and smiled. “Thank you, Lord. It looks like my Sunday sermon is going to be on faith and patience.”

For the next couple hours, he worked on his sermon. He had just finished searching online for a clever anecdote that went with the subject of patience when he heard the squeak of the front door. The large wooden doors had needed oiling for months. And since it was probably the custodian, Mr. Sims, it was a perfect time to bring it up. Besides, helping the older man would give Sean something to do.

Except it wasn’t a gray-haired man who stood in the foyer, studying the picture above the event bulletin board. It was a woman Sean would just as soon never see again. For a second, he thought about slipping back into his
office and pretending he hadn’t seen her. Unfortunately, the door wasn’t the only thing that made noise. He took a step back, and the wooden floor creaked beneath his Reef flip-flop, pulling the woman’s gaze over to him.

“Hey, Preacher Man.” Marcy Henderson smiled a smile that said she knew every carnal thought that had ever crossed his mind. And recently there had been plenty. Since looking at the illustrations of the Kama Sutra, he’d had a hard time keeping the images from filtering into his brain. And it wasn’t just images of the drawings. It was images of him and this woman in the same positions.

A part of him wanted to blame her. Any woman who paraded around in a shirt so tight and low that her bosom was practically falling out was asking for lustful thoughts. But the other part of him knew he was the one to blame. Marcy hadn’t done anything but catch him red-handed doing something that he had no business doing. And a part of him hated the fact that she had witnessed his human frailty.

“Hello, Miss Henderson,” he said. Normally, he took the hand of the people he greeted, but he figured he’d touched Marcy quite enough. “What brings you here on a Tuesday afternoon?”

Instead of answering, she nodded at the painting. “What does the ocean have to do with church?”

“To some people, the ocean is a church,” he said. “But this is a picture of the Sea of Galilee. The same sea that Jesus walked upon.”

“It looks a little too rough to walk on if you ask me—even for the Son of God.”

Sean took another step back. “It’s nice to hear that you believe Jesus is the Son of God, Miss Henderson.”

She continued to look at the painting. “Just because I don’t come to church doesn’t mean I don’t believe.” She glanced at him. “And the name is Marcy. Do you have a first name, Preacher Man?”

The knowing smile was back, but he chose to ignore it. He also chose to ignore her question. And the way the sunlight shining through the stained glass window reflected in her dark eyes.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Miss Henderson? Because I’ve got a sermon to finish.”

The smile faded. “Are you kicking me out of church? That doesn’t seem very Christian-like.”

He took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, but all he succeeded in doing was inhaling the scent of her. It was a clean, fresh scent that had him closing his eyes and listening for the sound of ocean waves crashing over a vast expanse of sparkling sand. A soft touch on his wrist brought him out of the daydream and, just that quickly, pulled him into a fantasy that involved her soft, gentle fingers doing all kinds of wicked things.

“I’m sorry,” she said, completely unaware of the effect her touch had on him. “I’ll stop teasing and get to the point of my visit.” She glanced around, for the first time, looking nervous and uncomfortable. “But do you think we could go for a walk?”

Since Sean was willing to do just about anything to get her to stop touching him, he quickly nodded and stepped away.

The afternoon was hot and humid as they made their way down the street. Which might explain why the town seemed to be deserted. The only person around was Moses Tate, who slept on a bench a little farther down
the street. It was wrong, but Sean couldn’t help saying a prayer of thanks that no one in town was around to witness his stroll with the notorious Marcy Henderson.

“I’m going to volunteer here on Saturdays,” Marcy said as they walked past the library. “So if you should want any more—” She bit down on her lip as if to keep from finishing the sentence. It was very disconcerting. Not the fact that she was about to mention his interest in erotica, but the sight of her teeth nibbling the plumpness of her bottom lip. A bottom lip that was stained a deep scarlet red.

He looked away and concentrated on the cracks in the sidewalk. “That’s very charitable of you. Most of the patrons on Saturday will be relieved not to have to smell Twyla’s toxic fumes while perusing the shelves.”

“Perusing? So that’s what you were doing?” Without waiting for a reply, she cut across the sparse grass of the park to the children’s playground. By the time he caught up with her, she had her high heels off and was sitting in a swing. Her skirt had hiked up, showing off so much thigh that Sean felt himself blush.

“Come on, Preacher Man,” she said as she wiggled her bare toes above the rutted hole beneath the swing, “give a girl a push.”

Sean glanced around before he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

Her head tipped. “Why? You got a girlfriend that the town don’t know about?”

“No, but I am the pastor.”

“So that means you can’t have any fun?” She sent him a smile, but this one was different from the others. It held no hidden meaning. “It’s just a push, Preacher Man.”

As much as he shouldn’t, Sean moved around the A-shaped poles of the swing set and stood behind Marcy. At least, on this side, he couldn’t see her bare legs. All he could see were the waves of brown hair that hung down her back. Not wanting to touch her, he grabbed onto the chains of the swing and pushed her forward. But when she came back, he couldn’t help but reach out and place a hand on her back. Her hair was as silky as it looked.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said as she soared up, sticking her legs out in front of her. Her toes were painted the same scarlet as her lips.

“So is this why you came to the church?” he asked. “You couldn’t find anyone else to give you a push?”

She giggled again as he shoved her even higher. “Nope. Although I could get used to this. I’ve never had a man push me in a swing before.”

“Considering how many men you’ve been with, I find that hard to believe.” The words came out without thought, and he tried to take them back. “What I meant was—”

“I know what you meant,” she said without a trace of anger. “And you’re right, I have been with a lot of men, but not one of them gave me a push in a swing. Not even my daddy pushed me. He was always too busy fighting with my mama to care about taking me and my sister to the park.”

Sean had heard about how neglectful Samantha Henderson’s parents had been. But for some reason, he hadn’t been able to connect Sam with her sister, Marcy. Maybe because the two were such complete opposites. Samantha was a sweet veterinarian who married a farmer and helped out in Sunday school. And Marcy was… the town slut.

It was wrong for him to even think it, but he couldn’t deny that it was the truth. Not only had he overheard it from the townsfolk, but also he’d witnessed her promiscuous behavior himself before she’d left town.

Marcy loved men—all men.

He stopped pushing her and stepped back.

After a few swings, she glanced over her shoulder. “So I guess the fun and games are over.” When he didn’t say anything, she turned away. “Time to get on with business.” But she didn’t stop pumping; she just kept on swinging as if the back-and-forth motion helped her to get the words out.

“I have a proposition for you. One I’m sure is going to shock that silly shirt and them baggy shorts right off you. But before you give me an answer, you better think real hard on it. Because, here in Bramble, you won’t be gettin’ one like it any time soon. And if I learned anything in the library the other day, it’s that you’re a man just like any other man. A man with needs that can’t be taken care of by what’s in a leather-bound book—or the Kama Sutra, for that matter.”

Sean bristled at her brutal honesty. He was about to turn and leave when she continued.

“I know that you’re not supposed to give in to your physical needs. But if that’s so, then why did God give us bodies that need water, food, air… and sex? Why didn’t he just make us like ghosts, floating around the surface of the earth? I figure it’s because he wanted us to enjoy things. Like the smell of fresh country air early in the morning. The taste of a summer tomato straight off the vine. The sound of children’s laughter. And the feel of someone’s arms around you—” she hesitated, “even if
they don’t love you. Even if you’re just there to fulfill their fleshly needs.”

Marcy stopped pumping, and the swing slowed to a gentle sway. “As much as you might want to deny it, you need a woman. I’m willing to be that woman. I won’t tell a soul anything about what takes place between us. The only thing I’ll want from you is money. And not a lot. Just enough to get me used to the idea.”

Shocked, Sean reached out and grabbed the chains, stopping the swing and twisting it until she faced him. “What are you talking about? You’re wanting to prostitute yourself to me?”

There were tears in her eyes. Big, watery tears that made her eyes look twice as big. “Minnie doesn’t refer to it as prostitution.”

“Minnie?” It took a moment for the name to register. “Are you talking about the woman who runs Miss Hattie’s Henhouse? Are you telling me that she hired you to work as a prostitute?” His only answer was a tear trickling down her cheek before she pushed him back and stood. She took his hand and pressed a piece of paper into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

“This is my cell number. Just call when you’re ready.” Then before he could utter a word, she walked away. Halfway across the park, she turned and sent him the cocky smile. “Thanks for the push, Preacher Man.”

Sean didn’t know how long he stood there. By the time he finally snapped out of his daze, the sun had moved farther toward the horizon and the townsfolk had reappeared. As he tried to orient his world, his gaze wandered down to the pair of red high heels that Marcy had tossed into the grass. He walked over and picked them up.

They weren’t new, or even expensive. The straps were some kind of synthetic leather that had ripped on one shoe. A piece of red electrical tape had been used to fix the tear. It was an ingenious fix. The tape not only strengthened the strap, but also blended so well with it that only close scrutiny would be able to detect the flaw.

Just like Marcy.

Sean didn’t know if the voice came from God or just his head, but he listened. He listened and, for the first time since meeting her, thought of Marcy as something more than a temptation he needed to avoid. He realized that like the shoe, she was hiding a broken soul that needed healing. And not just by a superficial piece of tape.

He had preached about accepting people for their differences, but he obviously hadn’t listened to his sermons. Just because Marcy was different didn’t mean she should be shunned or avoided. In fact, the outcasts were the ones who needed love and guidance the most.