Nineteen
Saylor
By the time Gathe dropped me off outside the clothes closet, it was after two, and I was annoyed. Car shopping had been a battle with Dad, and when we agreed on one, I was then informed it had to be equipped with some extras before I could have it. Meaning Dad was having bulletproof windows and God knew what else added. The tracker was a given, but those were a fast addition. The windows, not so much.
I hadn’t finished yesterday’s list of things to do in my binder due to the tornado, and now, we had cleanup to do at the church. The large debris had been hauled away already, and so had the sign that would need to be replaced. The street in front of us was also cleaned up from all the mess, and dumpsters were outside several businesses as they cleaned out the things that had been damaged.
None of that, however, was why I was annoyed.
I had woken up, anxious to get here. Anxious to see Jude. Last night had been so unexpected. Phone sex with him was great, but we also talked. I’d found out about his family. I felt as if he was opening up to me more and letting me in.
I put my bag of things I had brought with me on the counter, then decided to go find Jude. See if there was anything he needed help with. Possibly something that kept me close to him instead of all the way over here. I did need to get things sorted here, too, before we opened back up tomorrow, but seeing Jude ranked above everything else.
Before I could reach the door, it opened, and the object of my obsession walked inside. The faded jeans that hung on his hips, held up by a work belt with tools in it; his beaten-up leather work boots; and the navy-blue T-shirt he had on, its sleeves fitting tight around his biceps, took any words that I might have said and sent them flying out the window. Forgotten.
“Hey,” he said, letting the door close behind him, then reaching to lock the bolt.
Why was he locking it?
Don’t start getting all tingly between your legs, Saylor. He isn’t coming in here to bend you over the counter and fuck you. Oh, but what if he did?
“Hey.” My reply came out too raspy. I cleared my throat.
“Saw you got dropped off. No car?”
Had he been watching for me? The idea made me warm.
“I found one after much debate with Dad, but he wanted to have some things added to it first.”
His brows drew together. “Things?”
My gaze started drifting down his wide shoulders, stretching the cotton material of his shirt. If he lifted his arms, a slice of his abs would show since those jeans hung so low.
“Saylor?”
My name snapped my eyes back up to meet his. “Oh, sorry. What?”
A crooked grin curled his lips. “I asked what things you were getting added.”
I scrunched my nose. “Dumb things. Not important.” My eyes dropped back to his shirt again, then lower.
“What kind of car did you get?” he asked as he moved closer.
“Um, uh…a, uh…” I shook my head. What was the question? “What?”
A deep chuckle from his chest made every pleasure point on my body sizzle.
“You seem distracted.”
Distracted. Yes. I was that.
I nodded.
His big, strong hands went to his tool belt and began to unbuckle it. Was this what porn was like for men? I’d tried watching with Crosby because he wanted me to and I didn’t get into it. Those girls were so fake. The way they grimaced when the men shot their load on their mouths. But this…this felt like what porn should be.
He stepped closer and laid the belt on the counter behind me. “There. It’s gone. Do I get your attention now?” he asked.
I blinked, confused. “What?”
He laughed again. “You were staring at the tool belt. I removed it.”
I shook my head. “Not what I was staring at.”
“What was it then?”
I pointed at his chest and slowly lowered my fingernail all the way down his body, stopping at his crotch.
“My clothes?”
“Mmm,” I said, tilting my head to the left. “More like what’s under them. It’s, um…you’re just normally in slacks or jeans that don’t fit like this and shirts with white collars.”
“So, me in regular clothes is that distracting?” he said.
I blew out a breath and forced myself to stop staring at the hidden six-pack I wanted to reach out and touch. Jerk up the T-shirt and get my fill. “Yes. No. Yes,” I replied. “It’s more the body the clothes are on that is distracting.”
His eyes heated instantly, and the hope that perhaps I would get him to show me his abs sprang up.
“Here I am, being a gentleman and not focusing on the fact that you have on a short little sundress,” he drawled, the Texas coming out thick. “And those high-heeled sandals are real sexy, Dimples, but you can’t exactly get much work done, dressed like that.”
I motioned toward my bag. “I brought other clothes. I just haven’t changed,” I explained. I’d gotten here and been so excited about seeing him that I forgot to put on my work clothes.
Thick lashes fanned down as he dropped his gaze, scanning my body. He was close enough to touch me, but he didn’t. “You can change now. I’ll wait.” The huskiness in his voice told me he didn’t mean that he was gonna turn around or close his eyes.
“Okay,” I replied. “I should move away from the windows.”
At the mention of windows, his eyes snapped back up to my face, and his hungry gaze abated. “The windows,” he said.
I nodded.
He licked his lips and stepped back away from me. “Yeah, the windows. That’s why I came to see you.”
Shit. Please don’t say what I think you might.
Jude walked over toward them, and my eyes followed him.
“I was outside this morning, helping the folks at Vapiano clean up. And the manager said that, with his windows all shattered and his roof peeled back like it was, the insurance adjuster had told him that he had the worst damage along the tornado’s path. That it appeared it was closest to the ground right out there.”
I didn’t want to be told how close the twister had been to us. That would fuel nightmares.
Jude ran his finger along the edges of the windows, and I winced.
“Then, he said how he’d mentioned that the windows here were all fine. Not even a crack. How was it that with all that force and winds, it didn’t take out our windows? I mean, at least take out one. We lost three at the church, one at the rectory, and the roof is pretty much gone at the rec hall. It made me wonder how this building had been so lucky.”
He turned to look at me while he continued to run his finger along the nonexistent line where a tinted film coating would be. I had no lie for this. When I had agreed to those stupid windows, I hadn’t considered a tornado would rip through the street, exposing my lie.
When I said nothing, he put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he faced me. “Their adjuster told him we had bulletproof windows. He was surprised they could withstand the things that must have hit them. The winds. Apparently, it would take windows that were bombproof to withstand that much force.”
Bombproof? Really, Gathe?
“I decided to come look closer at our bombproof windows and noticed there’s no film from tinting. No, this tinting is inside. Made that way.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the need to defend myself. He’d caught me. I had lied. It had saved us. We had no damage.
“Fine. I lied. For my father to allow me to spend so much time here, it had to be safe. I argued and lost. The windows were put in at night so no one would see. I was embarrassed and didn’t want you to know.”
Jude studied me. “They’re bombproof, Saylor. I mean, I understand your father wanting you safe. You’re his daughter. Parents want to protect their kids. But bombproof?”
He paused briefly. I said nothing.
“Your car. It wasn’t totaled. I went to see how the Baptist church had fared since they’re basically our neighbors. I talked to the pastor there, and he was telling me what all they had seen. He and some of his staff had been inside, riding it out like we had. Seems there was a pearl-colored Bentley that he saw thrown from down the street. It hit the power pole that took out everyone’s electricity and landed on its hood, and when they came to get it, some paint scratches were the only damage.”
Dammit, Dad!
I liked my Bentley. We could have gotten another paint job. Why had they lied to me about it?
“What is it you want me to tell you?” I asked him, shrugging. “My dad has the money to be ridiculously overprotective. It’s been like this my entire life. It can be suffocating.”
Jude took a step toward me. “If he’s so protective, then why didn’t one of the family members who showed up here to get you yesterday take a swing at me? Threaten me? Because they knew. I could see it on all their faces.”
I licked my lips and stared at one of the stupid windows. “It isn’t my virtue that they are protecting. It’s my life. I was with Crosby since I hit puberty. They know I’m not a virgin.”
“Which leads me back to bombproof windows and a car that survived a F3 tornado with just a couple of scratches. The other cars on this street had no windows. Frames were twisted. Doors ripped off.”
Should I tell him? Just be honest?
He was going to find out eventually. My last name was going to be brought up to someone, and they’d know.
Why wait?
Because he might not be able to live with it. What you have of him right now is already fragile. He’s a priest, and you are the reason he is breaking his vows.
“Saylor, what are you not telling me? I need to know. I’m the priest, and you are basically working for me. It’s volunteer work, yes, but it is still me trusting you to work under the church’s missions. If you are keeping something from me that could come out and cause a problem, I need to know. I’m already doing things because of you.” He stopped.
I stared at him. Doing things because of you. Not with you. Because of you.
His words last night had been a lie too. He was also a liar. He did blame me. I was his temptation, and he saw me as just that. He’d never feel more for me. He couldn’t love me. We couldn’t date. Have a relationship. This had been finger-fucking in a dark closet. And phone sex.
I was setting myself up for a heartbreak I feared would hit me in a way Crosby’s hadn’t. Because I felt more with Jude than I had with a boy I had known my entire life. Falling in love with an unavailable man—that would be a sorrow I couldn’t move past.
“Fine,” I said, meeting his eyes as they stayed locked on me, waiting. “My father is Gannon Rice. That doesn’t mean anything to you because you’re not from around here. But to most locals, it does. Just like if I introduced Gathe Bowen to someone local who had grown up here, they’d recognize him. They might not know the full truth, but they have all heard the rumors. The Rices, Bowens, Carvers, Cashes, Savelles—those five families own just about every square foot of this town. In fact, the only buildings they don’t own that aren’t houses are the churches.”
I paused and dropped my arms at my sides. His full attention was on me.
“The Rices—we came first. In 1912, my great-great-great-grandfather, Hiram Rice, moved to Madison, Mississippi, from Ocala, Florida, on the orders of Jediah Hughes to take over speakeasies, along with illegal gambling and moonshine, here and in Jackson. You see, Jediah Hughes wasn’t just his friend, but also his boss. The first boss. The man who began what is now known as the family to those within it, but the Southern Mafia to everyone else.”
I watched him for a reaction. All I saw was his jaw tic. That could mean a lot of things. Jude was good at masking his real feelings.
“The oldest son born to the Rices took over running the Mississippi branch of the family. Until this generation. Dad had two daughters, and females in the family are protected, treated like fragile treasures who can’t do what the men do. It annoys the hell out of me. Anyway, Dad’s Parkinson’s got so bad that he had to step down, and Linc Shephard, who had been in the Ocala main branch, was sent to run this branch until the oldest Cash son, Bane, was ready to step in and take over. His father hadn’t been given the position because he’d been under my dad’s command for too long and Bane’s dad felt it was disrespectful to assume a position over my dad.” I let out a heavy sigh.
“So, there’s your history lesson. Yes, my cars are durable. You have no idea how much begging I had to do to get a car. My father wanted me chauffeured around by a bodyguard, like my mother and sister. I refused. As for working somewhere that the family doesn’t own and where they aren’t on the property, it’s unheard of for females in the family. It’s not safe. We are their weaknesses. We make them vulnerable. So, therefore, they keep us guarded.”
I was done. I had told him all of it. He knew more than I had ever told anyone who wasn’t inside the family.
He backed up and sat on the edge of a stool. Taking his hands out of his pockets, he rubbed his palms on the tops of his jeans. “And I thought that was a rumor.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Someone had already told you about my family?”
He shook his head. “No. The Southern Mafia thing. I’ve heard about it before. But I figured it was just a band of criminals with their hunting guns, chewing tobacco, and boots.”
I laughed. “Eh, we prefer something less bulky, silencer-equipped. A few might smoke a cancer stick, or several like an expensive cigar, but no one chews, that I know of. Yes to the boots, but they’re more of a refined crowd. Comes with the money and power. I attend galas and functions with senators, governors, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies.”
He let out an almost laugh and rubbed his hand over his face. “Whew, okay. Um, that wasn’t the answer I thought I was gonna get. My imagination had gotten a little wild, with your family being in the Witness Protection Program or your dad being wealthy because he trafficked drugs. But not this.”
“Drugs aren’t our thing here in Mississippi…” I trailed off because, well, they did do some trafficking in some branches. “Mostly illegal gambling. The family is big in horse racing. It’s how it got started in Ocala. The Carvers have the distillery, and I am not confirming or denying that it might not all be legal there. Rices—we are mostly real estate.”
Jude’s gaze went to the floor at my feet, and the slight slump in his shoulders sent that heavy boulder right back to my stomach. He shook his head. “This is a lot.”
I said nothing.
“I was just coming to terms with the fact that I was going to continue to break my vows and hope God forgave me, like he did King David, because I couldn’t stop wanting you. But this? It’s not just affecting me. I’ve got a parish to think about. People who come here and expect to be safe. You”—he looked up and waved a hand in my direction—“need bombproof windows and indestructible cars to live a normal life. I…I can’t have you here, Saylor.” His voice cracked in the last sentence.
The pain in his expression was the only thing keeping me from bursting into tears. This was hurting him.
“I can’t let my desire for you put this church, the people who trust me, and Sister Mena, who is here with you three days a week, in danger. I could live with my sin. This I can’t live with. I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes and sleep at night.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck!”
I stood there, watching as his chest rose and fell hard. His fingers gripped his hair, and he pulled at it. His chiseled jaw, which I loved so much, was rigid from the clenching of his teeth. Finally, he dropped his hand, and the mask that I had seen him wear before shuttered over his face. If it weren’t for his eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell that he was struggling.
“Thank you, Saylor. For all the work you put into this place. The donations. The…the windows. It will mean a lot to many people. But seeing as you are who you are”—he paused and licked his lips—“you can’t continue your volunteer work here. I’m sorry.” He was stalking toward the door before he finished his sentence.
And all I could do was stand there and watch him go.