Sinner & Saint (Black Hollow Creek #1)

Prologue

SAINT

“Happy birthday to me,” I whisper to myself as I sit on the edge of the bed. I’m officially an adult. Eighteen. The age when everything is supposed to change, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. That might be the case for everyone else, but not me.

When I wake up tomorrow morning, everything will be the same. I’ll still be the God-fearing daughter of a preacher, trapped beneath expectations that will never disappear. Always smiling on command, always stepping up when called, yet never once asked what I want.

Saint by name, saint by nature.

Of course, thinking that, guilt leaks into my chest. It’s a heavy weight. My life is good. I’m content. Happy. Cared for and loved. To think the way I am is selfish and ungodly. To feel bad for myself when I have everything makes no sense.

Before I can sink deeper into my thoughts, a pebble taps the glass of my window.

No, this is my birthday. If I can be selfish on any day, it’s today.

So I shove back the shame I’ve built into my freaking personality and prepare to have a fun night out with my best friend.

Pasting a smile on my lips, I push off the bed and walk over to the window.

I already know who I’ll find standing there.

Allie. She’s the only one reckless enough to throw rocks at Pastor James’s house.

I pull open the curtain and peer outside, and just like I knew she would be, Allie stands there staring up at me. She’s grinning in the middle of the yard, her arm cocked back with another stone in her hand.

“Let me in, birthday girl! I have a surprise,” she shouts.

I press my index finger against my lips to tell her to be quiet, and I slip downstairs to open the door, careful not to wake Dad.

Allie barrels inside, her usually wild copper hair styled perfectly.

She’s wearing a crop top that clings to her curves, and a pair of skintight jeans that I would never be brave enough to wear.

One look at her face and I know she’s up to no good.

Her green eyes sparkle with mischief, and a promise of chaos that’s soon to come.

Allie and I are opposites in every way.

She’s bold where I’m quiet, and reckless where I’m cautious. I suppose it’s what makes us such good friends.

“What kind of surprise?” I whisper.

Her grin widens as she pulls a pink bottle from the bag slung across her body. “The liquid kind. And after this, we’re going to The Rusty Nail.”

My stomach drops out beneath me. That’s the most popular bar in Black Hollow Creek. Showing up there would get me in all kinds of trouble if my father found out. What if someone recognizes me? What if they tell my dad? He’ll ground me for life. “Allie—”

“None of that. I will not accept your excuses tonight. We’re doing something for you. Something that Saint, the preacher’s daughter, wouldn’t do. Something normal.”

Can she read my mind, too? I’ve never been able to talk about wanting to be seen, really seen as me—not just as Pastor James’s daughter.

The older I get, the bigger the urge is to be more, to do more.

The reminder and the feeling in my gut drive my choice. But first, I have to shove this shame back into a closet in my brain.

I don’t think. I act.

I grab the bottle, bring it to my lips, and take a long gulp. The liquid burns a path of fire down my throat, and I pull it away from my mouth, sputtering and hacking. Lord, have mercy.

“Are you sure that isn’t lighter fluid?” I ask, still trying to swallow against the burn.

She shrugs. “I don’t think so, but then again, I didn’t really read the label. Just grabbed it out of my mom’s bar and left.” Figures. Allie’s been stealing alcohol from her mom since she was thirteen. And every single time, she tries to drag me into her trouble.

“So what’s it going to be?” Allie juts her hip out.

I’ve already decided. “We can go for one hour. That’s it.”

Allie squeals and then wraps her arms around me. “Yes! I’m so glad you’re letting me corrupt you. And who knows—maybe Calder will be there.”

Warmth creeps into my cheeks. “Stop. Be quiet, or we’ll wake my father.”

Allie shakes her head and laughs. “I’m never going to stop. You’ve had a crush on this man for over a year now. Don’t you think it’s time you made a move?”

“Maybe, but I’m not like you, Allie. I don’t just see something I want and take it.”

Even if I were like her, there’s no way Calder and I could ever be together. Calder is the oldest son of the most feared family in Black Hollow Creek—the Bishops.

I only met him officially for the first time a little over a year ago when I fell off a horse and broke my wrist during the harvest festival. Calder saw it and helped.

Innocent. Simple. Even though my feelings since then have been anything but.

It was my first and last time riding since my mother died.

He was gentle and kind. When he picked me up and cradled me against his chest, I felt safe.

It was the strangest thing. From that moment forward, an infatuation with him was cemented into my bones.

I watched him every chance I got—at church, at the store, and at social gatherings.

Of course, it was always from a distance.

I knew better. My father warned me that the Bishops are beyond saving. Even after he helped me, my father warned me off. I didn’t agree. I’d witnessed Calder do kind things like buy groceries, fix someone’s tire in the rain, and leave anonymous gifts.

Calder Bishop is kindness wrapped in menace. Part of me has always wondered how much of his grumpy cowboy vibe is an act.

“Sounds like you could learn a little something from me.” Allie winks. “Now go change into something a little less church mouse.”

I roll my eyes but go, anyway. Upstairs, I find a simple blue dress and change into it. It shows off way more leg than my father would ever approve of, but tonight isn’t about him. It’s my birthday, and he won’t be there to watch over me.

As I tiptoe back downstairs, Allie whistles quietly. “Calder Bishop won’t know what hit him.”

“He won’t even be there,” I grouse, but inside, I’m pleased I look and feel good.

My house is on a dead-end road on the far side of town, and The Rusty Nail is on the opposite side of town. Allie and I chitchat while we walk the twenty minutes, and for the first time in a while, I feel normal.

Once the blinking fluorescent sign of the bar comes into view, my nerves spike through my system. I’m a ball of barely contained energy when we reach the door and walk inside.

We step into a wall of heat, and the conversation dips enough for me to feel every stare.

The air is dim, thick with smoke and the scent of stale beer, along with the low hum of a jukebox tangled with laughter. My shoes feel too clean, my dress too soft. I freeze just inside the doorway—because for a girl raised on hymns and good manners, this is another world.

“Wipe that look off your face and follow me,” Allie orders, and interlaces her fingers with mine. Wipe what look? She doesn’t give me the chance to ask, though, as she drags me toward the bar.

She strikes up a conversation with the man on the other side, whom she calls Rick. I’m too busy taking in all the new sights and sounds to pay much attention to their conversation, so I’m not sure what she says to him. All I know is that he hands her two beers and tells her to get lost.

Allie turns to me with a grin and shoves a brown bottle slick with condensation into my hand. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

I smile and bring the drink to my lips for a tentative gulp. The bitter, grassy taste lingers on my tongue, followed by a foul sourness that makes me grimace.

Why do people drink this?

“Good, huh?” Allie asks. I nod and give her a thumbs-up. She laughs and shakes her head. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, the more you drink, the better it gets.”

“I don’t know about that,” I murmur, taking another sip of the beer.

“Let’s go sit over there,” Allie says, dragging me toward a booth near the pool tables.

I move slowly, like I’m waiting for a trapdoor to open and swallow me whole.

I’m completely out of my element here.

Country music filters from the jukebox speakers. It’s a popular country song my father would call “devil worship.” I remind myself, and the old familiar guilt threatening to claw back up, that he’s not here tonight. That it’s okay to let go and have a good time now and then.

That nothing is wrong with wanting to be someone or something else.

“Want to play a game of pool?” Allie asks, gesturing toward the empty table near the back. I nod, grateful for something to do with my hands besides clutching this beer bottle.

The table sits beneath dim overhead lights, scratched green felt bearing the marks of a thousand games. Allie racks the balls with practiced ease while I select a cue and test its weight.

“You break,” she says, stepping back.

I lean over the table, trying to remember what little I know about the game. The crack of the break echoes through the bar, and the balls scatter. One striped ball drops into a corner pocket.

“Not bad, birthday girl!” Allie cheers.

We play slowly, my shots clumsy and uncertain while Allie’s confident and sure. She sinks three balls to my one, laughing each time I miss. Between turns, she disappears to the bar and returns with fresh bottles, pressing the cold glass into my hand.

“Drink up. You’re falling behind.”

The beer tastes less terrible with each sip, the bitterness fading into something almost pleasant. My head feels light, my limbs loose. The music from the speakers seems louder now, pulsing through my chest.

“You’ll never guess who I saw,” Allie says suddenly, lining up her next shot.

“Who?”

She glances toward the shadowed booths along the far wall. “Calder Bishop.”