Uncommon Passion (17 page)

impatience. Those emotions were seen as signs of disobedience and disrespect to her father, her elders, and

God. In the days after she left, the social worker at the shelter pointed out that there was a wide range of

human emotional experience, and expecting a person to only feel joy and gratitude was a form of abuse.

Rachel was now allowed to feel everything. Anger at what had been expected of her, taken from her.

Sadness over what she’d risked and lost. Fear for her future. Humiliation at the sidelong looks when she

wore the wrong clothes, or said the wrong thing. But while the farm felt like a refuge to Jess, it felt too

much like home to Rachel.

“I like and admire Rob, but I don’t want to help him run Silent Circle Farm,” Rachel said.

“If you get into vet tech school, you’d be more valuable to the farm,” Jess pointed out.

Rachel shook her head. “Rob has a vet. A good one. A farm like this doesn’t need a full-time person on

staff, just someone with decent knowledge about animal care, and you can get most of that with a season or

two of experience and a good book.”

Jess had arrived at the farm two months after Rachel. She’d graduated from college but rather than

getting a job she’d come straight to the farm, searching for a meaningful way of life, yet not hesitating to

call her parents when her laptop broke. “Where did you grow up?” Jess asked, as if the thought had just

occurred to her. In all likelihood, it had.

She was saved from answering when Rob crested the slight rise, George by his side, panting from the

heat. Like water flowing downhill, Jess drifted along the rows of tables in Rob’s direction. Rachel went

back to the faucet and ran a bowl of water for George, who lapped at it, then immersed his whole snout in

the bowl and snorted, splashing water everywhere. Rachel laughed and rocked back on her heels, away

from the playful dog. When she looked up, Rob and Jess were both watching her.

Feeling awkward, she patted George and shooed him back to Rob, tucked a loose strand of hair back

into her braid, then picked up a flat of strawberries to carry to a customer’s car. With the groceries safely

stored in the back of the car, the woman pulled away and revealed a minivan Rachel knew very, very well.

It belonged to Reverend Carlton Bayles, her pastor.

Her former pastor.

A complex swirl of emotion rooted Rachel in the dust as men got out of the vehicle. Four, no five of

them, all leaders in the Elysian Fields church hierarchy, all dressed in khaki slacks and button-down shirts.

All wearing identical expressions of horror when they saw her form-fitting T-shirt, the neck scooping low

to reveal her collarbones, and her jeans. Tight tops and pants were expressly forbidden to women at Elysian

Fields, for fear they would enflame men and encourage women to act like them.

In all her hours with Ben, his naked body against hers, inside hers, she’d never felt as dirty and

ashamed as she did when the men who used to rule her world judged her in the Silent Circle Farm parking

lot.

“Good Lord have mercy,” the deacon intoned.

“At least you haven’t cut your hair, Rachel Elizabeth,” Reverend Bayles said, shocked.

She almost laughed. Instead, she stopped herself from crossing her arms over her torso, standing

straight and tall. “What are you doing here?”

“Our duty. We’ve come to bring you home, Rachel Elizabeth.”

“I’m not going back,” she replied, at the last second changing
home
to
back
. But even in her defiance,

she stayed out of arm’s reach.

“Your father misses you,” Reverend Bayles said.

“He is welcome to come see me anytime,” she said.

“He cannot countenance your disobedience. The commandments admonish us to honor thy father and

thy mother. Exodus chapter twenty verse twelve,” he added automatically. “Your actions disgrace your

father and shame us all in God’s eyes.”

Her heart pounded in her throat. “I disagree,” Rachel said carefully. “I prayed for months about what I

felt called to do. I believe I’m living out my life as God intended.”

“By tricking your accountability partner into thinking you were reading at a Christian bookstore, then

running away? You should not have been allowed to remain unmarried,” Reverend Bayles said. “A woman

needs a husband and babies to keep her mind focused on her role. He was sentimental, keeping his only

daughter close.”

“My father respected my wishes, and I’m grateful to him for that,” Rachel said, trying to find common

ground.

“And this is how you repay him?” He gestured at her clothes, the farm. “He’s seen the error of his ways,

and prays daily for God to forgive him for this lapse.”

He wouldn’t answer her letters, telling her without words that his love depended on her meeting the

community’s approval.

“Your eternal soul is at stake. God judges every thought, word, and deed on this earth, Rachel Elizabeth.

Based on what I see in front of me, you are in grave, grave danger.”

She was shaking too hard not to wrap her arms around herself. She’d fly apart if she didn’t. Her

stomach surged up her throat, because if God watched her with Ben Harris, wearing jeans and a T-shirt

were the least of her concerns now.

“It’s my soul to risk,” she said, her throat tightening. “Mine. Not yours, not my father’s. Mine.”

“Until you marry, you are your father’s responsibility. If your father dies and you are still unmarried,

you are the Church’s responsibility. We’ll wait while you pack whatever things you have left that will be

appropriate for your return to our community.”

“I’m not leaving with you. Not now, not ever.”

He straightened and thrust out his chin. “Rachel Elizabeth, I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but if you

don’t pack your bags and get in the car, I’ll be forced to report you to the police for stealing your father’s

money.”

It was an empty threat, as the community rarely invited outside authorities into their concerns, but anger

flowed hot and acid in her veins. Thank God for the lawyers who volunteered at the shelter where she’d

lived. “I spoke to a lawyer after I left. That was a joint bank account,” she said. “I worked on the farm as

many hours as my father. I’d earned half that money. I took one-third for fifteen years of work. I left him

the rest, including my mother’s family land, which was deeded to both of us. So you go ahead and call the

police. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Rage suffused Reverend Bayles’s face, then all five men switched their focus from Rachel to someone

behind her. She turned to see Rob standing just off her right shoulder, with Jess lingering a little distance

away. Embarrassment crawled along her nape. This was the last thing she’d wanted anyone to see. Other

than Ben, she’d told no one where she’d come from, and she’d told only Ben because when he showed up

in the parking lot demanding an answer, she figured he deserved to know.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?” Rob asked.

“Who are you?” Reverend Bayles demanded.

“Rob Strong. I own this farm,” Rob said, but he didn’t offer his hand.

The men looked at Rob’s left hand, then at Rachel’s. No rings. Then they looked at Rachel, wide-eyed

disbelief and horror on their faces.

“What is your relationship to this girl?”

It seemed like a reasonable question. Rob opened his mouth.

“Don’t answer that, Rob,” Rachel said.

He closed it again. Her tone and Rob’s obedience weren’t lost on the five men from her former life. No

woman of any age or experience spoke to a man in the tone of voice she just used.

“My relationships are none of your business,” she said clearly. “I am not a girl. I am not your

responsibility. I am not leaving with you. Now, or ever.”

Rob looked at the five men arrayed in a semicircle in front of Rachel, and jumped to the right

conclusion. “Leave. Now.” Beside him, George let out a low growl.

She’d never heard that tone of voice from Rob, or a growl from George.

“This isn’t your concern, young man,” Reverend Bayles started.

Rob cut him off. “You have sixty seconds to get in your car and get off my property or I’ll call the State

Patrol, give them your license plate and tell them you were harassing one of my employees.”

Reverend Bayles stared steadily at Rachel, who stared right back. “Your rebellion is killing your father.

Body and soul. He believes he’s failed as a father, as a Christian, as a man.”

Rachel’s diaphragm stopped working, leaving her not breathless but entirely without air. When she

could speak again, she said, “I can’t be his salvation. I love him, but I can’t be what saves him.”

“Pray on that, Rachel Elizabeth.”

She was shaking when the minivan circled the rest of the cars in the parking lot and pulled out onto the

dirt road leading to the highway. Beside her, Jess let out a low
wow
.

“Rachel,” Rob said quietly.

She was shaking, her stomach in acid-coated knots, with fury and shame and humiliation. She looked at

him and shook her head. “Not now.”

I am not a victim. I am not pitiable.

“I should get back to the stand,” she said.

“Take the rest of the night off,” Rob said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

Rob reached out, very slowly and carefully, and lifted her hand from her waist and held it palm down

in his. Her fingers trembled in his big, callused palm, mirroring the muscles spasming up and down her

entire body. Her heart raced, and she felt embarrassingly close to tears. In the raw, vulnerable wound all her

old training raced back. Anything other than happiness and gratitude was rebellion, and a sin.

She was a sinner. An ungrateful, disobedient sinner.

No.

Her head spun, and she swallowed hard. “It’s the Friday night rush,” she said.

“You’re in no condition to work,” Rob said. “We’ve got this, me and Jess.”

A spot on the team assured, Jess nodded eagerly. “No problem. Treat yourself. Eat a big scoop of ice

cream or a slice of the gluten-free cake I made yesterday.”

“Okay. All right. I will,” she said, because she had to get away. She hurried toward the path leading

from the farm stand to the employees bunkhouse, nestled at the bottom of the hill near the creek, but once

she got inside, she couldn’t stop shaking.

What did it mean to be whole? She had no problem with surrendering herself into a relationship, even

secretly longed for that. But she drew the line at willingly giving herself to a man who used her to shore up

his identity.

She paced through the bunkhouse. The air inside held all the warmth of the day and wouldn’t cool off

until after dark when the outside air temperature dropped. In the kitchen she opened the freezer, but one of

the A&M boys must have finished off the ice cream because the carton was gone. The cake sat on the

counter, but Rachel knew she didn’t want cake. She wanted to rage and scream and clench her fists. Doing

that in the communal environment of Silent Circle Farm, in front of Rob’s customers, was impossible.

A long walk beside the creek to the back pasture currently housing Rob’s sheep herd would settle her

down. She’d taken many, many long walks in the months before she left Elysian Fields, trying to reconcile

what she felt with who she was. When she burst through the screen door and saw her car, another thought

bloomed in her mind.

You aren’t limited to long walks anymore. You’ve got options. Specifically, one very hard, very edgy

option who knows exactly how this feels and what you need.

Ben’s busy. He’s getting off work at his first job and heading to his second.

So what? If he’s not home, you’ll enjoy the drive.

She snagged her keys from the hook by the front door, jerked open the car door, and got in. Seconds

later she was spewing dust and gravel behind her on her way to the paved county road, toward Galveston.

Chapter Eleven

Ben’s truck was in his parking space. Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes, searching for

that bright inner space she used to live within. All she found was darkness, heated by desire, rich and

loamy, like the fields after Rob plowed them. She got out of the car and hurried up the stairs to Ben’s door.

She knocked, heard footsteps, then a pause while she assumed he peered through the peephole. The door

opened to reveal him shirtless and barefoot, wearing only his uniform pants. Two lines etched into the skin

on either side of his mouth. When she dragged her gaze up from his broad, bare chest to his face, he

quirked one eyebrow at her.

“Are you busy?”

“Just got off work,” he drawled. “I’ve got an hour to shower, eat, get to No Limits.”

His guard was up, his face tight with tension that didn’t ease when he saw her standing there. He didn’t

ask why she was here, and this was a mistake. Sundays only, that’s all he agreed to. “Never mind,” she said,

and turned to go.

He braced his shoulder against the doorframe. “You here to talk about hobbies, Rachel?”