For the Love of God (6 page)

But when she looked up, his gaze was making a leisurely survey of her upper body and appearing to take particular note of the hint of maturely rounded breasts under the loose-fitting dress. It
was the look of a man, and a hundred alarm bells rang in her ears.

“Are you on a diet?” Seth finally lifted his gaze to her face. “It’s just one man’s opinion, but I don’t see how you can improve on your figure.”

In the first place, she wasn’t sure if he should notice such things, and she definitely felt he shouldn’t comment on them if he did. But how on earth did you reprimand a minister? Abbie preferred to believe she had misinterpreted his glance. Maybe it had been more analytical and less intimate.

“I don’t like to eat a lot of food on a hot day like today.” She chose to explain away her lack of appetite.

“That’s probably very wise,” he agreed. When the waitress came, Seth ordered for both of them. At the last minute, Abbie remembered she had promised to bring her father a sandwich.

“I’ll need a cold roast-beef sandwich to go, too, please,” she added hastily, then explained to Seth when the waitress left, “My father was tied up and couldn’t get away for lunch.”

“He’s an attorney here?”

“Yes. It’s just a small practice. He keeps talking about retiring but he won’t. He loves what he’s doing too much.” It seemed easier to talk about her father than the other choice of subjects open to her—like the weather. “Although he does complain that his practice interferes with his fishing,” she added with a laughing smile.

“He’s an avid fisherman, I take it.” Seth smiled.

“Very avid,” Abbie agreed, and couldn’t help thinking that Seth was a “Fisher of Men.”

“I didn’t have a chance to meet him last Sunday at the tea. I’m looking forward to it, though,” he said. “How long have you worked for him?”

“About a year now.” Abbie leaned back in her chair when the waitress returned to set a glass of iced tea in front of her and milk for Seth. The action accidentally pressed more of her leg against his.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured on a seductively low-pitched note. “I’m not going to think you’re playing footsy with me under the table.” Abbie was positive she had never blushed in her life, but her cheeks were on fire at the moment. Her mind was absolutely blank of anything to say. Seth seemed to guess and asked, “What did you do before that? Attend college?”

“No, I worked for TWA in Kansas City.” She was relieved to have the subject changed.

“As a stewardess?”

“No, I was in management, in the corporate offices.”

His attention deepened. Abbie braced herself for the next question, fully anticipating that he was going to ask why she had left, but it never came. There was only the quiet study of his keen eyes.

“Thomas Wolfe was obviously wrong. It is
possible to go home again,” was the only comment he made.

“I’m just a small-town girl at heart,” she admitted.

Just as the waitress came with their luncheon order, a local judge paused by their table. Abbie had known Judge Sessions since she was a small child, so she wasn’t surprised by his greeting when he noticed her.

“Hi there, little girl. How are you doing today?” He grabbed a lock of copper hair and tugged at it affectionately.

“I’m doing just fine, Judge.” She smiled up at him.

His glance went to Seth, sitting opposite from her. “Who’s this with you? A new man friend?” His teasing demand was accompanied by a broad wink.

“No, of course not.” Abbie denied this quickly, conscious that Seth was already rising to be introduced. “This is the new minister of our church, Reverend Seth Talbot. Reverend, I’d like you to meet Judge Sessions, a family friend.”

“Reverend?” The judge almost did a double take, then shook Seth’s hand and laughed. “You could have fooled me!”

“I seem to fool a lot of people,” Seth admitted with a brief glance at Abbie.

“You do look more like a man of the flesh than a man of the cloth,” the judge stated.

“I’m the usual combination of both,” Seth replied, not at all bothered by the remark.

Abbie thought the judge’s description was very accurate. Seth was made of flesh and blood, all hard, male sinew and bone. Not even the cloth could conceal that.

“I’m glad to hear it.” The judge nodded. “We need a change from sanctimonious old fogies, too old to sin anymore.” He laid a hand on Abbie’s shoulder. “Be nice to this little girl here. They don’t come any better than Abbie.” Then he was moving away from their table with a farewell wave of his hand.

This time it was Seth who brushed his knee against hers when he sat down. Abbie wondered if she wouldn’t feel more relaxed if it weren’t for this constant physical contact with him. Her skirt had inched up above her knees, but it was impossible to pull it down without touching him. He couldn’t see it, not with the table in the way, so she made no attempt to adjust it downward.

“Have you known the judge long?” Seth asked as he picked up his silverware to begin eating his chicken-fried steak with gravy smothered over it and the mound of mashed potatoes.

“Practically all my life.” She stabbed a piece of lettuce and sliced ham with her fork. “It’s not surprising that people are taken aback when they find out you’re a minister. You really should wear your collar, so they’ll at least have some advance warning.”

If he’d been wearing it, the judge wouldn’t have assumed he was her boyfriend, and the girls at the bank wouldn’t have been lusting over him—and maybe she would feel a little safer.
The last seemed silly, yet Abbie felt the collar would provide some sort of protection for her.

“Do you have any idea how those stiff collars chafe your neck on a hot day like this?” Seth appeared amused by her comment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticize the way you’re dressed.” It had been a very rude thing to do—as well as presumptuous.

“It doesn’t matter.” His wide shoulders were lifted in a careless shrug. There was a dancing light in his eyes when he looked at her. “I promise you that I do wear it when I make my rounds at the hospital or call on a member of the congregation in their home.”

“In some ways, this is a very conservative community. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say,” Abbie murmured. And he seemed liberal and at the age to know about sin, as the judge had suggested.

“Right in the heart of the Bible Belt area, I know.” He nodded.

She glanced at him sharply to see if there was any mockery in his expression, but it was impossible to tell. Her gaze wandered downward to the white of his shirt. With the top three buttons unfastened, she had a glimpse of curly gold chest hairs, another example of his blatant masculinity. There was a chain of some sort around his neck, too.

“Something wrong?” Seth caught her staring, and amusement deepened the edges of his mouth without materializing into a smile.

Her pulse did a quick acceleration as Abbie
dived her fork into the salad again. “You just don’t look like a minister.” She sighed the admission. His latent sensuality was too unnerving for her.

His low chuckle vibrated over her tingling nerve ends. “Let’s see … what would laymen expect a minister to look like?” he mused. “I imagine there are different categories. The intensely pious should be pale, ascetically slender, with deep-set eyes, hollow cheeks, and a fervid voice. There’d be the benevolent father figure—white hair, a round face, and a kindly air. And you have the thunderer, preaching about the wrath of God and pointing out the sinners with a long accusing finger. He’d have a beard, be very tall, with beetle brows.” Seth paused to send a mocking glance across the table. “How am I doing so far?”

“I guess I’ve been guilty of type-casting,” Abbie admitted with a faint smile.

“Everyone does it,” he assured her. “Now, my idea of a legal secretary is a woman in her forties with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She’d wear wire-rimmed glasses and tailored business suits.” His glance skimmed her again. “Funny, you don’t look like a legal secretary.”

She laughed naturally for the first time. “I promise I won’t say it again, Reverend.” Inside, Abbie knew she’d think it each time she referred to him by his professional title.

“I’ve finally made you laugh.” His gaze focused on the parted curve of her lips. She felt them tremble from the look that was oddly physical.
“We’ve cleared the first hurdle,” Seth murmured enigmatically.

“To what?” Her voice sounded breathless.

“To becoming friends,” he replied.

“Oh.” For some reason, Abbie was disappointed by his answer. She ate a few more mouthfuls of salad but found it tasteless. She couldn’t stop being conscious of the warmth of his leg against hers, and the rough texture of the denim material brushing the bareness of her calf. It became imperative to keep a conversation going. “Are you all moved in to the parsonage?”

“More or less. I still have a lot of boxes of books to unpack.” There was a rueful slant to his mouth as he glanced at her. “Have you ever been in it?”

“No.” The slight shake of her head swayed the ends of her pale copper hair.

“It’s a rambling monstrosity. There’s more rooms there than I’ll ever use. I’ll probably close up half of the house.”

“I imagine it was intended for a family to live in rather than a single man,” Abbie suggested.

“It’s practically an unwritten rule. A man is supposed to have his wife picked out
before
he graduates from the seminary and is assigned to his first church.” Seth didn’t appear troubled that he hadn’t followed the rule.

“But you didn’t.” She stated the obvious.

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed, and let his gaze lock on to hers.

Her throat muscles tightened. “I guess it is the expected thing—for a minister to be married, I mean,” Abbie finally managed to get the words out. “How long have you been in the ministry?” She guessed his age to be somewhere in the range of thirty-five.

“Thirteen years. I spent four of those years as an air-force chaplain.” He dropped his gaze and began slicing off a piece of steak.

“Where was your first church?” She gave in to her curiosity and began delving into his background.

“This is my first church,” he admitted.

“You mean, you were always an assistant pastor before?” A slight frown of confusion creased her forehead.

“No. I worked in the national offices of the church. My work was more business-oriented than anything else.” There was a sardonic curve to his mouth. “For a variety of reasons, I requested to be assigned a church in some quiet little community. I guess I’m taking something like a sabbatical.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“I doubt it.” He showed a bit of cynical skepticism, then hid it. “But it isn’t important.” His glance suddenly challenged her. “Why is it that
you
aren’t married, Miss Scott?”

Her mouth opened and closed twice before she could think of a safe answer. She laughed shortly to conceal her hesitation. “Grandmother Klein says it’s because I haven’t looked hard enough.”

“Or maybe you’ve been looking in all the wrong places,” Seth suggested.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him where the right places were, but Abbie resisted the impulse. “Maybe,” she conceded, and stirred the half-eaten salad with her fork. Absently she glanced at the slim, gold watch around her wrist. Her eyes widened when she saw the time. “It’s after one. I have to get back to the office.” She laid her napkin alongside the salad plate and reached for the luncheon check the waitress had left, but Seth was quicker. Her hand ended up tangling briefly with his fingers, the contact sending a tingling shock up her arm.

“I’ll buy this time,” he insisted.

“Please,” Abbie protested. “I don’t really have time to argue. She opened her purse to take out her money, intending to leave it on the table regardless of what he said.

“You said yourself that you’re short on time,” Seth reminded her. “If you insist on paying, just put whatever you feel you owe in the collection plate this Sunday.”

“I… all right.” She gave in to his persuasion and refastened the leather flap of her purse.

“Don’t forget your father’s sandwich.” He handed her the paper sack when she started to get up without it.

“Thank you.” She gratefully took it from him. It was bad enough being late without her father having to go hungry, too.

“See you Sunday.”

The walk to her father’s office seemed longer
than it was. Abbie suspected it was because she was late and trying to hurry so she wouldn’t be later than she was already. Her father was a tolerant, easygoing man, but he was a stickler for punctuality.

When she walked in, the door to his private office was closed, but she could hear muffled conversation within. His one o’clock appointment had obviously arrived. Abbie hurried to her desk, returning her purse to the lower drawer and setting his sandwich atop her desk. She swiveled her chair to the typewriter and picked up the headset to the dictaphone. Before she had it comfortably adjusted so she could hear, his door opened.

Abbie saw his irritation as he approached her desk. “I left a file on your desk.” He picked up a folder from the IN tray.

“Here’s your sandwich.” She handed him the sack.

“I’m surprised you remembered. What kept you?”

“I had lunch with Reverend Talbot.” She knew the judge would mention it if she didn’t. Besides, keeping it a secret would only mean there was something to hide. “The time just slipped away.”

He harumphed but didn’t comment. Instead he opened the sack to peer inside. “Roast beef?”

“Yes.”

There was a relenting of his stern expression. “At least you brought back my favorite.”

There were more people at church than Abbie remembered seeing in a long time, especially since it wasn’t Easter or Christmas. A lot of it, she guessed, was curiosity about the new minister. Seth made a striking figure standing at the pulpit in his robe while he conducted the services.

He was halfway through his sermon before Abbie realized he wasn’t using a microphone, yet his well-modulated voice carried his words effortlessly to the back row. He talked easily, as if he was carrying on a conversation instead of giving a sermon. His gestures were natural rather than dramatic. There were even places where the congregation laughed at a bit of humor that contained a message.