Chance of the Heart (5 page)

“Well, I was just checking in, Mr Grump. You seemed stressed when we talked last week so I’ve had to stop myself from calling you six times this week. How’s the job situation?”

He frowned. Job, apartment, ex-boyfriend… It all was shit today. He figured he may as well swallow his pride, though. His sister was decently connected and he’d be out of an apartment and job soon enough.

“Well… Here’s the thing…” And after telling her everything she had the ‘perfect solution’. The one he’d been dreading but that she seemed to have already ironed out in hopes he’d accept. Her plan was actually entirely too logical and financially responsible to pass up. And damn her, she knew she had him.

Looked like he’d be going home—under duress, of course. And he tried not to think maybe he’d get a repeat out of Chance. No, he’d do better to remember what it was like living in the closet back in Hope Springs.

Bradley’s sister had done him right. Even if she had practically bullied him into coming home, at least she made sure he got one of the furthest cottages from their dad’s house. If he was going to be living on the same ranch, he couldn’t imagine doing better than being on the back forty. He knew his dad never came back there, the cottage used mostly by his buddies who visited and liked fishing at the lake the cottage backed up to.

To make him feel better about living at home again, his sister already got his father to grudgingly agree to his working at the church—with a pay cut—to make up for his lodging. They’d signed a contract, all proper and business like, for six months of living quarters and his trial work period for the church.

“Welcome home, Mr. Heart,” Regina said, as he walked into his new offices. He’d moved everything in the previous weekend and was there to start work bright and early Monday morning.

He smiled fondly at Regina before giving her a hug. The grandmotherly woman had been his father’s secretary at Blessed Union Church for as long as Bradley could remember. “Nothing here seems to have changed much.”

“People just gettin’ older, sweet boy. We’ve missed you,” she said, patting his cheek, which was a feat since she was a good foot shorter than his six-foot-three.

He held back the snort. His old man sure hadn’t missed him. In fact, they hadn’t seen each other since he’d pulled his U-Haul up to the ranch three days ago. His sister and her two teenage sons had been there to help him move in, but other than a welcome basket from his father’s house keeper, he’d heard not one peep.

His father had even put him in an office in the bowels of the church, rather than close to the old man’s office upstairs. Granted, the bowels of Blessed Union were nicer than most. The multi-million dollar complex was what they in Texas called a mega-church. They had over two-thousand congregants who traveled from as far away as Austin, which was a good three hours. Their Sunday morning eleven o’clock service was even filmed for one of the Christian TV networks.

They’d started significantly smaller, but when Bradley was just starting to head into his teenage years they’d signed the network contract; his father being catapulted to televangelist status after writing a few inspirational books. Between the TV contract and the books, the funding was provided for the church that many called the Blessed Union Compound.

So while he was definitely in the basement, no windows to speak of, his office was shiny and new. White, with pristine new furniture. “This looks nothing like McFarley’s office.” Rodney McFarley had been the church accountant since before they’d grown to their current size, but with a new network contract and new wings being built onto the fellowship hall, he’d decided the workload was too much to handle and put in for his retirement.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Regina said, primly. “He had a window.” Her disapproving expression spoke volumes as to how she objected to his office placement. “So your sister and I got together and had the boys make sure the walls down here were freshly painted and you got new office furniture.”

She wandered into the room, turning on lights. They’d done a good job. They definitely hadn’t shopped at IKEA. He was warmed by their thoughtfulness. She flicked on the desktop computer. “Sorry the computer isn’t new, but it’s not old either. We’re all making due there, until construction on the east wing is complete.”

“ Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “Thank you for making this look so nice.” He had been thrilled to have his own office, even if it was in the basement. But this was an actual office; other than the lack of a window, you’d never know it was in the basement. Someone, at least, appreciated the work he’d be doing.

She waved him off. “You have a hard job keeping up with all the money. You’ll be at the treasurer’s beck and call. And she’s a piece of work.”

He laughed loudly. “That’s not very Christian.”

“Some people make you lose your religion when they walk in a room, and that woman is one of them.” She looked apologetic before starting her next statement. “I wouldn’t mention that you’re gay, honey. You know I love you, but some of the network people, and especially Debby Carter, the treasurer, are very unsupportive.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m no amateur, dear Regina. I didn’t imagine the church had developed a tolerance policy during my extended absence.”

“If you ever see the news you’d certainly have seen your father has done no such thing.” Again her scowl said it all. He’d asked her once why she stayed when she wasn’t as anti-everything as his father’s church seemed to be. Apparently six figures as an administrative assistant was a hard thing to pass up. He’d probably have sold his soul too. He knew what kind of bonuses his dad gave on top of his employees’ salaries, too. His father was definitely your stereotypical God Tycoon. He made ridiculous amounts of money for his speeches and his books. The church also paid him a princely sum.

“I try not to pay attention to how badly my father pushes against those restrictions they set for tax exempt status. I see his name pop up in the news and I scroll to the next story.” He walked around his desk and set down his brief case.

“Probably wise,” she said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Your sister said you’d already gotten caught up to the point where you could get started?”

“ Yes, ma’am. She left me about a million folders on our accounts. I’ve met with the bank. I believe I have a meeting with Debby Schultz tomorrow so I’m going to try to catch up with the notes she e-mailed me.”

“Good boy.” Before she made it out the door, she turned back. “Oh, if you need anything until you get your own secretary, just press two on speed dial; that’s my extension, and I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks Miss Regina.” And with that she was off. He sighed and looked around his new office. He’d been dreading this so much over the last three weeks. It hadn’t really sunk in until he’d started up the mile long driveway to his cottage on the back lake of the ranch. It’d been surreal being back for the first time in what was nearing a decade. Then when he’d parked in the church’s staff lot this morning, it seemed like he could hear the sound of a jail cell slamming shut. He didn’t know why he felt trapped. He was an accomplished accountant with excellent references. He would now single-handedly be responsible for the accounting of a multi-million dollar Jesus Machine. He could leave here and get a job anywhere. This was just biding his time, making twice what he’d been making in Abernathy. He’d be able to save most of his salary since his major housing expenses had been deducted of the top.

But just being back here felt like he’d fallen into a sinkhole. Like maybe he’d never really escaped. Maybe that’s why Chance had been so eager to stay on the straight-and-narrow. Pun certainly intended. There was something about their corner of Small Town, U.S.A. that made you understand your place as a cog in the machine.

And damn, didn’t it suck to think of Chance now when the man was so close, yet so untouchable. He’d considered reaching out to the man, but it’s not like Chance had done any reaching out of his own in the three weeks since their night together. Not that he knew Bradley was coming back to town. Hell, they hadn’t even exchanged numbers.

Fuck that though. He was not getting involved with a closet case who had Small Town issues, and who was last but not least was a member of Bradley’s father’s church. Wouldn’t that tickle the old man pink. Plus he didn’t even know if Chance had a girlfriend these days… or heaven forbid, a wife and ten kids. And Bradley had headache enough dealing with his own mess without getting involved in
that
kind of drama.

Bradley would do best to remember this is why Taylor Swift wrote more breakup songs than the ones about getting a Happily Ever After with someone. You may be enchanted to meet someone, hope they don’t have someone at home waiting on them, but it always ends up with more bad blood. Hopeless. This was no fairy tale.

“Now that you’ve depressed yourself…” he said, laughing at himself. “ It’s great to be home.” Then he turned to his computer and got to work.

“These look great,” Heather Heart-Murphy said. She pointed at the stack of photos Chance had snapped of a new take on baba ganoush
he’d finally felt he’d perfected.

“Thanks,” he said, beaming. “I’ve been working on fusions lately. But I knew with the deacons we’re going to want more traditional stuff.” He pulled out the recipes he’d dug up last night. “So I thought maybe one of these for appetizers.”

She took the printout from him. “I like the eggplant fries idea.”

“Me too,” he said, looking over her shoulder at the recipe. “The lemon dill sauce is awesome. And this is just unhealthy enough they won’t complain, but fancier than sweet potato fries and ketchup. Or we could do baba ganoush.”

She laughed. “I think that might be a little too daring. They’d hear the name and ask if it was terrorist food.” Sadly, that probably was true. “Let’s go see if we have the eggplants for the fries, though.” He followed her through the massive fellowship hall of Blessed Union into the restaurant quality kitchen. He loved working in that kitchen. He could spend days doing nothing but.

There were two things Chance Becket could say he knew in this world. One was horses, the other food. He’d started helping his mother in the kitchen when he was a kid, eventually moving up to helping with some of their major social functions at the ranch. When he’d taken a few cooking courses while he was at Hinkley CC, the prof had mentioned he might work with a professional. That’s how he’d hooked up with Heather. They had a pretty standard boss/employee relationship. He’d learned a lot from her. But she also took him seriously. His parents didn’t get why he did the work, but it was extra money and he got to cook.

When Heather came out of the pantry she wore a pleased grin. “We had some delivered this week. Excellent.” The grin really brought home for him the fact that she was Bradley’s big sister. That face was one he’d been trying to forget as they’d worked closely together preparing for the deacons’ lunch the last couple weeks. But for some reason, that one expression really made Chance remember and he averted his eyes quickly. He’d never been such a blushing, bashful thing in his whole life. He was quiet, sure, but not bashful. He had no clue what was going on. But the last few weeks he’d been a bit of a mess.

“You doing okay there, Chance?” He looked back at her, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been different the last few times we’ve worked together.”

“Yes, ma’am. Just a lot going on these days,” he lied. He wasn’t fine. Nowhere near it. He wanted to ask for her brother’s number. He wanted to drive to Bradley’s apartment and sit in his company and just… be. But no good could come of that.