Queen Bee Goes Home Again (14 page)

I struggled to regain my balance, my hand over my still-pulsing lips.

So
that
was how a kiss should feel.

Holy moley.

Connor tugged at his collar, his eyes darkening with remorse. “I am
so
sorry. I can't believe I just did that.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Yes I can,” he confessed. “I've been dying to do that since the first minute I saw you.”

“Oh, no.” I steadied at last. “Me, too.”

We held ourselves apart, as if lightning would strike if we touched again, even as the attraction pulsed between us like a giant generator.

His brows lowered in consternation. “I promise I've never done anything like this in my entire life. Never felt anything like this, either.”

“Oh,
no,
” I repeated.

“Why ‘oh, no'?”

“A man like you needs Debbie Boone, not a woman like me.” How could I feel so wonderful and so wretched at the same time?

“Come.” Connor held open the front door and screen for me. “We need to talk.”

He helped me into the rocker to the left of the front door (the bathtub was to the right), then drew up the next rocker beside mine till they were only inches apart.

“I don't believe in coincidences,” he said as he settled down to rock beside me, his perfect man-hands splayed to grip the wide, white wooden armrests. “And I don't believe it was a coincidence that we met. Or that we're attracted to each other.”

He leaned forward, staring unfocused into the middle distance, his forearms braced on his thighs, revealing just the right amount of golden man-hair on his arms. His hands clasped, as if in prayer. “I'd like to court you, if that's all right.”

I sat there, speechless.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

My Puritan resurrected.
No! Disaster. Think of someone else for a change. Don't do this to him!

Or yourself!
my practical self added.
Do you want to be a preacher's wife?

Not!
all my inner voices chorused.

Common sense took hold. “Haven't you heard anything I said?” I asked Connor. “Half your congregation thinks I'm a scarlet woman, and the other half is mad at me for leaving and joining the Methodists after your predecessor kept looking straight at me and preaching about the woman at the wayside who lures men to destruction. For
years
.”

Prodded, I'm sure, by Mary Lou Perkins.

Smiling indulgently, Connor clearly wasn't convinced. “You will note that the church fired him.”

He just didn't get it. “I cannot be the woman you need. I've lived alone for ten years. I'm too self-centered, too irreverent, too set in my ways, too frank, and too independent. I say what I think, not what people want to hear. Really. Outside of work, I have no filters. And I've just started college.”

Connor brightened. “A coed. I can't wait to tell my kids.”

Kids. A perfect deflection. “So, tell me about your kids.”

I could see that he knew I was being evasive, but he politely told me, “I have two girls. Rachel's thirty-two. Married. Has a great house in Richmond. Her husband's an emergency medicine MD. Corrie's twenty-nine. Still single and finding herself in the Big Apple.”

Both far away.

“We talk on the phone occasionally,” he said, “but ever since the divorce, things have been strained, even though it wasn't my idea to split.”

Been there, done that. I nodded. “Same with my son David. He has a wonderful corporate job in Charlotte, and a great wife and the cutest little boy and girl you ever laid eyes on, but ever since he told me his dad was living in the Caribbean with his stripper, on money he stole from me and the IRS, David's dropped down to calling only once a week.”

Connor nodded, compassion in his expression. “What his father did, and is still doing, is a heavy burden for David to bear. Maybe he hasn't dealt with it enough yet to get past it.”

“Exactly what I thought,” I said, “but that doesn't make it any easier. I miss the sound of his voice and knowing what my grandchildren are up to.”

Connor sighed. “Ditto. But I call anyway.”

“I tried that, but they see it's me and don't answer.” Changing to the new number on my drop phone had helped at first, but once they'd memorized it, they just screened me out again.

Connor shook his head. “Sounds like they're as independent as my girls.”

Affirmed, I confided, “Do you know the special ring tone they've assigned to my number? On both their phones? The
funeral march,
for goodness' sake.”

Connor laughed. “Are you gloomy when you talk to them?”

“Of course not. I just ask what's up and how the kids are. I've never dumped my problems on my son.” I had Tricia for that.

“Kids today,” Connor said, then promptly repeated the question he'd asked me before. “Is it okay with you for me to court you?”

As stubborn as Julia, just a lot more polite.

As much as I wanted to say yes, I repeated, “I told you, seeing me could really cause a problem with your congregation.”

Connor laughed, too. “I didn't ask you to marry me. Just to let me court you, strictly on the up-and-up, so we could find out if we're truly matched by God.”

I resisted the powerful urge to grab him. Instead, I told the truth. “Connor, I can't do it. I can't get within ten feet of you without wanting to jump your bones.”

He grinned, clearly complimented. “I have enough self-control for both of us.”

I waggled a finger toward his face. “Oh, really? Then what was that kiss?” A shard of desire ran up through my body at the thought of it. “You can't just go dropping bombs like that on me.”

He smiled like Dick Van Dyke.
That
was who he looked like, only Connor's nose was more classic. (Read: smaller.)

“We have a saying in the Baptist church,” he said brightly. “Sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission.” He waggled his brows. “Can you forgive me for kissing you that way?”

Flustered, I blurted out, “Well, of course.” I straightened my clothes. “But please don't do it again without letting me know what's coming.”

God was laughing. I could hear it echo in my soul.

No fair!

“Okay.” He sobered. “If it will make you feel better, we can limit our dates to public places.”

I must not let this get a foothold. “Connor, in addition to being the one woman in Mimosa Branch you don't want to be seen with”—well, except for the midget on Sheetrockers' stilts—“I have no intention of remarrying. My mother needs me, and so does my father.”

“How convenient that I live right next door,” he countered, smug.

“For how long?” I challenged. “Once the church sees us keeping company, they'll probably fire you.”

He sobered for a quiet rebuke. “My congregation is made up of people like you and me. No better, no worse. Please don't write them off so easily. They just need guidance to shift their focus from other people's shortcomings to God's grace and forgiveness in Christ.”

The compassion in his voice was real, which only made him more attractive.

I stood corrected. “Sorry. You're right.”

There was that glint of little-boy mischief again, but his voice was dead serious when he told me, “I need this job, need to make it work. I need to prove to myself that God hasn't withdrawn His hand from my ministry. But as long as I don't break any of God's rules, who I date is my personal business. The Lord laid this church on my heart, so I mean to do what I can to help them, but I'm human, and it's better to marry than to burn.”

All the more reason not to date me.

This was a true holy man. I could feel it. Far too holy for an impulsive, irreverent person like me.

I shivered at the mere thought of trying to be a minister's wife, covering my face with my hands. “This can never work.”

Connor stood, then drew me to my feet. Facing the tracks, he put his arm around my shoulders. “Why don't we leave that to the Lord and take it one day at a time?”

Uh-oh. AA-speak. Was he a recovering alcoholic?

Oh, mind, shut up!

I needed to go to some convent somewhere to mortify the flesh. But I wasn't Catholic.

You are sixty years old,
my inner Puritan chided.
Get a grip on yourself and run as far and as fast as you can from this man!

My inner hedonist retorted,
Oooo, that kiss. Remember that kiss? You don't have to be married to kiss like that. What could it hurt to try a few dates?

I let out a long sigh of surrender. I couldn't send Connor Allen packing.

But I could put on the brakes. “Okay, then. We can try dating. But not till Christmas, so you'll have some time to get to know your congregation first. If you're serious about this, you'll do as I ask.”

Connor considered, his expression a bit wounded at first, then resolute. “Okay. I can wait. But may I have the honor of celebrating New Year's Eve with you at my church?”

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.

But my Puritan commandeered my voice to say, “We'll see. If all goes well, ask me again on Christmas, but not before then.”

His smile flattened and his brows drew together. “And what will you do till then?”

“Study algebra and try to CLEP as many classes as possible.”

Connor stared into the night. “Nothing like math to distract a person.”

I sincerely hoped so. “It's okay if you want to go out with other people till then,” I lied. “Probably a good idea, really.” True.

He said okay, but his head wagged
no.
“May I still come visit once in a while,” he asked, “when your mother's there to chaperone?”

Oh, please. “I don't know,” I blurted out. “It'll only make things harder.”

“But if I avoid y'all completely,” he reasoned, “people might think I'm shunning you.”

Rats! He had a point.

“Okay,” I conceded, “but not too often. I'm trying to do the right thing, here.”

His expression softened. “I know, and I deeply admire you for it.”

He's only interested because you're the one available woman in town who hasn't chased him!
my Puritan scolded.
It's that guy thing, all over again. They want what they can't have till they find out you really won't have casual sex with them, then they drop you. And tell everybody you're a slut, like Grant did.

A giant vise clamped down on my heart as I peered at Connor. “I think you'd better leave now.”

Connor Allen took my hand and gave it a squeeze, sending a fine web of electricity up my arm. Then he let go. “As you wish. Please thank Miss Mamie again for the meal. It was the best I've ever eaten.”

Tears of frustration and sadness welled behind my eyes. “I will.”

But not tonight. Tonight, I would head straight for my bed for a good cry.

I hate being noble. Hate, hate, hate it.

 

Twenty

After twenty minutes of crying, off and on, I finally came up for air in my bed and called Tricia. I hadn't told her about my crush on Connor because I was too ashamed, but that paled now that he'd made his intentions known. I had to talk it through. Safely.

“Hey,” I said when she answered.

“Uh-oh. You've been crying.” She knew me so well. “What happened?”

“It's awful.” I fought back fresh tears. “I have a horrible crush on the gorgeous man next door!”

Alarm sent her voice up high. “That divorced Baptist
minister
?” Tricia and I had celebrated long-distance about the sale and commission, but I hadn't told her about my crush, so this dropped like an atom bomb between us.

“Yes. And he has a crush on me, too. Asked if he could
court
me,” I wailed. “And now, I'm so horny I can't see straight. So is he. This is a disaster.”

“Whoa. This sure happened fast.”

“Yep. That's one reason I don't trust it.”

I could almost hear her shaking her head in consternation as she offered, “I've been praying God would send you a good Christian man,” she said, “but this is overkill.” Having grown up in Mimosa Branch, she could appreciate fully what would happen if I dated the new divorced Baptist minister. “Poor baby, poor baby, poor baby, poor baby.”

The maximum for non-life-threatening situations.

Too weary even to cry anymore, I let out a long sigh. “Absolutely.”

After a pregnant pause, she asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

“I told him to date other people till Christmas.”

“You
what
?” Tricia exclaimed.

How could I explain without breaking his confidence? “He's at a real turning point in his career and his spiritual life.” Part of me wanted to tell her everything, but the better part of me kept Connor's confidences. “This job is very important to him,” I told her. “I can't come between him and his congregation.”

“Have you asked God for guidance about this?”

I shook my head no as if she could see me. “I told God this was a dirty trick, so now He's not speaking to me.”

“Poor baby, poor baby.”

“So I looked for direction in the scriptures. I'm so glad Jonah and that one whiny Psalm are in there.”

“Hah,” Tricia chided with a single word. “You'd probably do better if you stuck to the rest of the Psalms and made a gratitude list.”

“I keep going back to the part about how a man who divorces his wife for any other reason than marital infidelity, then remarries, causes his second wife to commit adultery.”

“You're reading that all wrong,” Tricia, the Presbyterian, corrected. “That only applies if the people remarrying broke their original marriage vows. Why did he get divorced?”