Three
Saylor
I wasn’t one to get intimidated—or so I had thought. I realized that I’d never truly gone anywhere alone. There had always been a group with me. Walking into a place by myself, where others would look at me, judge me, it made it difficult for me to open my car door and step out. Instead, I sat, parked, looking at the white building in front of me.
It seemed Gathe was right about the Mass thing. They had been doing something inside the sanctuary. People had been exiting the church since I’d arrived, then getting in their cars and leaving.
Except for the seven or eight I’d seen walk from the church to the building I was currently staring at. They hadn’t appeared nervous at all. Church was supposed to be a welcoming place, wasn’t it? Where everyone accepted you? But what if they saw through me? I was the daughter of the former head of a known Mafia family. I’d never prayed before. Not even when Crosby had been lying there, dying in front of me.
Gripping the steering wheel, I wasn’t sure I could do this—get out. Netflix and Takis were calling to me. They were safe without condemnation. I thought I preferred that option.
The side door to the church opened, and I swung my gaze over to see the one person I knew here. Well, I’d met. I didn’t really know Father Jude. He wasn’t in jeans and boots tonight. He had on a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved black button-up shirt with a white collar, which seemed ridiculous on him.
A priest with a square chin, chiseled jaw—which was clean-shaven tonight, I noticed—bright, piercing eyes the color of the needles on a lush pine tree; and thick, wavy dark brown hair that was styled perfectly seemed like a waste to me. Yep, that was one big fat shame. A man who looked like that, living a life of celibacy? I mean, I thought he did. Wasn’t that a priest thing? Or was that a rabbi? Whatever. He was religious. And for someone like me, he was off-limits. Once he found out just who my father was, he’d not be so friendly and welcoming.
Fuck it. I was going in. If for no other reason than to look at the hot priest for my dirty thoughts later tonight. Hopefully, my dad was right, and there was no God to strike me down for getting off to a priest.
Opening my car door, I stepped out of my car and flicked my hair back over my shoulder before walking toward the building. I wasn’t looking at him, but I could see Father Jude in my peripheral vision, so I knew the moment he spotted me. He stopped briefly.
Licking my lips, I turned my head slightly and flicked my gaze in his direction, then let a smile spread across my face. His expression faltered for a moment. His smile seemed uncertain. I was making him nervous. A grown man, eight years older than me. That was the most entertainment I’d had in, well…no, I was not thinking about that. It was before, and before was a time I did not dwell on.
His smile was back and firmly in place on that attractive face of his.
“You came,” he said as we both reached the door.
“I did.” I glanced down at my sundress. It was the most modest piece of clothing I owned. It wasn’t long, but it did hit mid-thigh, and although I couldn’t wear a bra with it, the black fabric hid my nipples. “I hope this is appropriate.”
When my eyes lifted to his face again, he was still looking above the neck, like the priest he was. “Absolutely. No dress code here.” He opened the door, then waved a hand for me to enter.
Two eight-foot tables covered in red-and-white checked tablecloths sat in the middle of the gym floor. Each with a vase of fresh-cut flowers in the center. And folding chairs on either side. Two men and an older lady sat at a table, chatting, while another man and woman sat across from each other at the opposite table. Two younger women over by a display of drinks leaned in close to each other, as if in deep discussion.
The warmth coming from the priest behind me was a momentary distraction as he walked around me, his shoulder brushing mine since I had stopped, making it difficult for him to follow me inside.
“Excuse me,” he said. His face looked slightly warm, as if our shoulders touching had been something to apologize for.
“Father Jude,” the older man called out, holding up a hand in greeting.
Every other set of eyes present swung to Jude, as if he were a magnet and all their eyeballs were made of metal.
He nodded his head, then glanced back at me, but before he could say anything, a woman who looked to be in her later twenties was in front of him, holding a plate of what I thought were tiny weenies with bread around them.
“Father Jude,” she cooed, batting her lashes at him. “I made my pigs in a blanket for an appetizer. I know how much you love them.” Her Southern drawl had to be exaggerated, or she had been raised by Scarlett O’Hara.
Jude picked one up, thanking her, although he looked a little tense. As if he was uncomfortable.
Did the sexy priest have good Catholic women chasing him?
Well, I’ll be damned. Color me shocked.
“Sibby, I’d like to introduce you to a new face tonight. This is Saylor Rice. Saylor, this is Sibby Hughey.”
Sibby flung her long brown braid over her shoulder as she pasted on a fake smile. While the white blouse she was wearing was modestly buttoned up, it was two sizes too small, and the navy skirt hit her knees, but the slit up the side was showing some serious leg.
“It’s just wonderful to have you here,” she gushed. “Whereabouts are you from?” Although she was talking to me, her eyes kept cutting to Father Jude to see if he was looking at her or me.
“Madison,” I replied, starting to get entertained by her desperate attempts for his attention.
“Oh, well, that’s lovely.”
Sure it is, Sibby. You look absolutely thrilled.
I wasn’t as talented at the faking it as she was, but I flashed her a tight smile, then looked out at the others. Although a few had gone back to their conversations, they were still looking this way, attempting to not make it obvious.
“Let me introduce you to the others,” Father Jude said.
“I’ll do that,” Sibby offered, placing a hand on his arm and beaming at him. “You do so much. Go sit and rest. I’ll bring you a sweet tea.”
He appeared to be buying her bullshit. I could see it in his expression as he nodded. He was pleased.
“That’s kind of you, Sibby. I’m sure Saylor would enjoy getting to know some ladies close to her age before we get started.”
No, actually, I was not interested at all.
Sibby might fall to her knees and lick his feet at any moment. Good Lord, was there not someone other than her he could pawn me off on? Not that I needed pawning. I could handle this myself. I did a quick scan of the others and found an attractive man with dark brown hair, a trimmed beard, and a tattoo visible on his neck. He turned his head in my direction, and his brown eyes crinkled at the corners as a slow smile touched his face. There was a friend. I was better with males.
An older lady with gray streaks and a skirt that went to her ankles called Father Jude over to show him something she had in a Crock-Pot.
These folks really were into food.
“I’ll leave you ladies to make the rounds,” he said, barely glancing at me before escaping Sibby’s clutches.
“Isn’t he a fine man of God? Always there for everyone. Trying to save the lost souls,” she said as she tore her gaze off him to level it on me.
When I realized she wanted me to respond, I shrugged. “I just met him.”
She gave me a bless your heart smile. “Of course. Another lost soul,” she said, then waved a hand out at the room. “This is all his work. Those hurting from loss. I didn’t notice you in the sanctuary earlier. Did you not attend Mass?”
“I’m not Catholic.”
Her eyes rounded as if I had just confessed that I was a convict on probation.
“I see,” she said in an exaggerated whisper.
Yeah, I was starting to think that whoever Sibby had lost must have run off a cliff to get away from her. I could be at home, watching Netflix right now. Eating my Takis.
“Sibby! Why don’t you bring those pigs in a blanket over here and set them on the table?” a woman called.
She nodded her head with entirely too much enthusiasm than necessary. “I’ll be right there, Lora Gail,” she replied then glanced back at me. “You can mingle on your own for a moment, can’t you, while I go help prepare the food table?”
Seemed she wanted to ditch me as badly as I wanted to ditch her.
“Of course,” I replied and headed toward the table with the tattooed brown-eyed man before she could say anything else I had to listen to.
He watched me walk toward him, not even masking the appreciative glint in his eyes. At least someone liked the effort I’d put into getting ready for tonight. Which I was realizing was a waste. The hot priest was too…good for my general liking. I wasn’t even sure I could summon naughty thoughts with him in it.
I pulled out the chair beside Brown Eyes. “Hello,” I said, sitting down. “Saylor,” I told him with a grin that I knew made my dimples pop.
“Nice to meet you, Saylor. Crow,” he replied, his eyes dipping down below my neck and not even trying to hide it.
Odd that I was now annoyed. I’d wanted attention, hadn’t I? Yes. But this was just the wrong male I’d wanted it from.
Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my legs and sighed. “You come here often?” I asked him.
“Weekly,” he replied. “For the past six months.”
I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced out at the others before looking back at him. “Does it help?”
He gave a small shrug. “I think. It’s either that or time. But here I am, coming back.”
I dropped my eyes to his neck. “What’s the tattoo?” I asked, only being able to see what I thought were black feathers.
“It’s a crow. That’s part of its left wing,” he replied.
It must take up most of his back. I didn’t ask to see it though.
“You from around here?” he asked me.
“Yep,” I replied. “Family goes back a hundred years.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? You know your family tree then.”
I wanted to laugh. He had no idea how well I knew my family tree.
I nodded. “And you?”
“Moved here almost a year ago.”
I did a quick check of his ring finger, and there was no mark or a tan line to show where a ring had been.
“What brought you to Madison?”
He shrugged. “A girl.”
The sadness in his eyes as he said it made me think she might be the reason he was here. His loss.
His brown eyes softened. “What brought you here?”
“To the meeting?” I asked for clarification.
“Yeah.”
They had no issue getting right to the point.
Why was I here? To lust after a hot priest wasn’t the answer I needed to give. But what was it? Mourning the girl I had once been?
I pulled my bottom lip through my teeth and then let it free before deciding to go with, “My fiancé was shot and killed in front of me in the parking lot of a bar.”
Just calling Crosby my fiancé made me feel like a fraud. He’d never proposed, although I had grown up believing we were already engaged. If he had lived, he would have broken up with me for the baby momma.
“That’s”—he blew out a breath—“rough.”
He had no idea.
“Hey, I’m Mary.” A woman with short auburn hair, which had a wild, curly windblown look, straightened the funky blue glasses perched on her freckle-covered nose as she took the chair across from me.
Although her smile wasn’t fake, her eyes did flicker over to Crow.
Were all the women looking to hook up here?
“Saylor,” I supplied, not sure she cared if I said more or not. She was clearly here for Crow, not me.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, then sighed as she looked at my hair. “Please tell me those are extensions.”
I touched a lock of hair draped over my shoulder. “This?”
She nodded.
“No. The hair is real,” I replied, but seeing as she now looked like I had kicked her puppy, I pointed at my lashes. “These are extensions.”
She let out a small laugh. “Thanks, if that was an attempt to make me feel better, but those dimples outweigh it. What about the blue eyes? That might even out the dimples.”
“Sorry. I was born with the blue eyes.”
Her shoulders drooped. “You’re too young for that body to have been bought. I think I hate you.”
I motioned to her hair. “Your hair is awesome. It’s unique. Mine is common.”
The small blush on her cheeks from my compliment made me feel good. How odd. I wasn’t sure I’d ever complimented another female before who reacted like that…what was the word… humble ?
“You think?” she asked almost hesitantly.
“Yes. And I’ve always wanted freckles.” I was enjoying this.
She ducked her head. “I don’t know why.”
“Mary!” Sibby called. “Can you come mix up some more lemonade?”
The redhead nodded and stood up quickly. She glanced back at me with one more flicker to Crow. “I’m glad you’re here, Saylor,” she replied as she hurried off to do Sibby’s bidding.
“That was real nice of you,” Crow said beside me.
I glanced over at him, trying to decide if I was annoyed or not that he was mentioning it, as if I had done a good deed. “What? Pointing out the facts?”
The corner of his lip quirked up. “Women who look like you don’t typically see the beauty in those who don’t have the same stunning attributes.”
I turned in my seat toward him, still trying to decide what he meant by that. “I’m not sure I understand what you are getting at.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”
Okay, maybe I did, but he hadn’t had to say it like that.
“Crow, Saylor.”
The smooth, deep voice belonging to the reason I had come tonight had me swinging my attention back to the spot Mary had just vacated.
Father Jude stood there, making black slacks entirely too sexy, staring down at me. “It’s time to eat. I thought I’d come get you and walk you through the line.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine. The green color was disarming with those thick black lashes.
“Thank you,” I replied, standing up.
For a millisecond, I caught him. It was so quick that unless you were looking for it, you’d have missed it. But Father Jude’s gaze had checked me out. I was feeling more confident about my sundress.
“It was nice talking to you, Saylor,” Crow said, reminding me that he was there.
I felt a twinge of guilt for forgetting him. But when a gorgeous man with eyes like an evergreen and a jaw chiseled like that of a Michelangelo sculpture gave you attention, it was distracting. Even a gently bred Southern woman had her limits.
I looked down at Crow, flashing him a smile. “Same.”
He smirked as if he knew I was lusting after the priest. But then I had a feeling every female in here was doing the same. Except for Lora Gail, who had to at least be sixty.
I walked around the table to meet Father Jude, who was watching me.
“Crow isn’t much of a talker. I think he might have said more to you than he has the six months he’s been coming here.”
I scrunched my nose. “Really? I thought he was rather chatty.”
Father Jude’s mouth did this thing where the corners curled up ever so slowly, and his eyes held a spark of amusement. It was what could only be labeled as a wet panty trigger. Because one of those directed at you, and that was exactly what happened. Panties instantly wet.
“I think those sapphire eyes of yours and dimples might have loosened his tongue a bit…but he’s too old for you.” There was a touch of snark attached to the last part of that sentence. It was masked under his charming priest persona, but it was definitely there.
Any other man, I would have accused him of being jealous. But this wasn’t a man who could get jealous. Right?
“I like older men,” I challenged.
Father Jude’s jaw flexed. A barely there twitch. Again, if one wasn’t as obsessed with his face as I was, they might have missed it. There was also a slight flare to his nostrils.
Then, he cut his eyes to me. “And why is that?” he asked, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.
Did he not want anyone else to listen in? An excited thrill coursed through me, reminding me how far from godly I was. I liked the thought. The temptation.
I licked my lips, careful to make each small flick of my tongue count. To keep his eyes on me, unable to look away. There was a woman in the Bible who was a temptress. I couldn’t remember her name, but I did remember hearing about her in literature.
“I loved a boy, Father,” I reminded him. “When I give myself in any way again, it’ll be to a man. Someone sure of what he wants. Mature.” Like Father Jude, I spoke softly. If someone else wanted to hear me, they’d have to lean in, make themselves obvious.
We arrived at the table to find the others standing back instead of forming a line. I started to do the same when Sibby waved out her hand at the food, as if displaying her artwork to an interested crowd.
“Father Jude.” She beamed at him.
He looked back at me as he continued to the table. “Come on, Saylor.”
My eyes glanced around at the others, who weren’t moving to get in line.
“Our guest always eats first—after Father Jude, of course,” Sibby said loudly with her large white teeth on display.
How very patriarchal of them, serving the priest first.
My eyes went back to his face, and I could see a slight pink color form on his tanned cheekbones. He knew I was judging, and it embarrassed him. What an interesting man he was. If only he knew what I had been born into. How the family that surrounded me was much the same.
If my sister had been a male, she’d have been leading the Mississippi branch of the family. Not that she’d have wanted to, but still it was a barbaric rule. Fia was the oldest of the children within our world. Locke Bowen was a year younger than her, and there had been a time when I thought they’d end up together. The way they fought made others think they hated each other. I disagreed. There was an energy between them. When she’d gone to live with the Davidsons in the Louisiana branch of the family to attend a private college there, it all had changed.
“This here is Lora Gail’s chicken potpie,” Sibby said in her too-loud Southern-belle accent. “Thank the Lord that we don’t meet on Friday nights. I think we’d all just cry.”
I stared at her while Father Jude scooped out the potpie into his bowl.
What did that have to do with anything? Did Lora Gail not cook on Fridays?
“It’s Lent,” Father Jude said under his breath.
I wasn’t sure exactly what Lent was all about, but I had a basic understanding. They gave things up for Lent. Something about meat. I’d Google it later.
Following the Father’s lead, I got my chicken potpie, a roll, and a small plate with a slice of carrot cake from the end of the table. Turning to face the room once again, I watched as Father Jude made his way toward the two tables meant for eating. Not sure exactly if I was supposed to sit beside him since he hadn’t mentioned it, I hesitated.
He glanced back over his shoulder, as if sensing my sudden predicament. A crooked smile not meant for a priest touched his lips. Then, he nodded his head for me to come on. I began moving again, and he continued on to the table closest to us.
When I arrived, Father Jude placed his things on the table and pulled out a chair beside him. It was chivalrous and not something I was used to. Not once in my life had Crosby done that.
“What would you like to drink? We have sweet tea, lemonade, and coffee.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Agnes makes the coffee, and it’s strong enough to keep you awake for twenty-four hours.”
“Lemonade,” I told him.
“Smart choice,” he replied, then sauntered off—well, maybe not a saunter per se. He was a priest. But if he were a normal man, it could have been described as a swagger.
I tried not to stare at his ass for too long as he did it.
I put my things down and sat in the chair that had so thoughtfully been pulled out for me by the sexy, swaggering priest. This had to be the oddest Saturday night of my life.
Mary placed her things across from me. “You weren’t at Mass earlier. Are you going to come tomorrow?”
How many times did they have Mass in one weekend? Seemed excessive.
“Uh, well, I’m not Catholic,” I replied.
She shrugged, sitting down. “So? Girl, that is a misconception. Anyone can attend Mass. Now, you can’t take communion, but honestly”—she leaned forward—“there are some Catholics who shouldn’t be taking it either.”
She had a you know what I mean gleam in her eyes, but I hated to tell her I had no idea what that meant. Or what it was.
A plastic cup was placed beside my bowl, and the fresh, clean scent of a countryside on a warm summer’s day met my nose. It was so pleasing that I quickly inhaled again. Deeper.
Father Jude sat down beside me, and I wanted to look at him, but refrained since Mary was still talking. I had lost track of the conversation, being distracted as I was.
“And you could sit with me if you’re nervous about it. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday. It is a little more elaborate than most Sundays.”
I was assuming she didn’t mean they read palms at Mass. That would be pagan. But what the heck was Palm Sunday?
“Well, I…” I had no idea.
Part of me wanted to see Father Jude in action, and another part thought seeing him in his robe thing, reading the Bible or whatever they did, would make it real—that he was off-limits.
“Are you thinking of attending Mass?” he asked me.
That Texas drawl came out thick with his question. I’d noticed it before too. Sometimes, it wasn’t as strong.
“I don’t know,” I replied, flicking a quick peek at him, then reaching for my lemonade.
“I’m working on her, Father,” Mary explained as if it were her new calling to save my soul. Or at least convert me.
“What are we working on?”
Sibby’s voice made me flinch. She sat down on the other side of Father Jude.
Great.