Bad Preacher’s Daughter

Chapter 1

Morgan

“Because we love Jesus, don’t we?” I say.

The crowd roars, “Amen!” I hold up my hands, palms out, and flash a big smile.

The stage lights glare down, illuminating the first few rows while the crowd beyond blurs into a dark, shifting mass.

“Yes, we do! We love Jesus!” I clap and wave as the collection plates glide down the aisles. “God gave his only begotten son. Think about that sacrifice. What will you give to spread his word?”

Front row, I spot Gabe, our youth minister. He’s fresh out of ministry college. I wink and give a knowing smile.

He grins back, blushing slightly.

He should.

I blew him last night.

Those words still don’t sound real in my head. Like they belong to another girl... someone reckless and unrecognizable.

The act itself wasn’t as scary as I’d thought it’d be. Didn’t take him long to orgasm, either. Wish it took me such little time. When he returned the favor, I couldn’t, so I faked it. I am polite.

I am also weak, having fallen to temptations of the flesh.

Guilt knots my stomach. If this congregation knew, the shame it would bring my family—

My shoulder is patted. Big Daddy. His hand is heavy, rings pressing through the thin fabric of my sleeve. He smells like expensive cologne, the same scent that lingers in every hallway he walks through. He speaks into the mic, his deep voice carrying a bold quality.

“Thank you, Morgan Leigh Montgomery, my sweet daughter. A gift. She will be livestreaming afterward. Stop by and share your weekly highlight.”

“Hallelujah,” I say theatrically, clutching my chest, just as I was trained to do.

Because the bigger I am, the bigger the tithing. The bigger the tithing, the bigger the church. This is a mini-megachurch, but God wants my family in the largest church possible so we can reach more people.

More.

To save more souls.

The service ends and I step over to do the livestream. A phone waits on its tripod beside the organ, our post-service ritual. It’s a special hour of interviews with the congregation, who are already lining up. I welcome over the first churchgoer, a young man.

He jogs up the steps and—

Oh, no. He tripped.

Quickly, I help him up and pretend it didn’t happen.

“What’s your name, hun?” I say sweetly.

“Noel,” he replies. His cheeks are flushed bright red, freckles scattered beneath the color. Light brown hair sticks up in uneven tufts like he ran his hands through it too many times. He wears a hoodie and oversized jeans with a belt to keep them up. He adds softly, “I’m your biggest fan.”

“Well bless you, Noel.” I reply with my Southern twang. “Tell the world what you did this week to be closer to our Lord and Savior?”

“I work at the Center for Special Hearts. My older brother and I run it. We help people with Down syndrome live full and productive lives.”

“Oh, my.” I flutter my lashes, impressed. “Good for you. That is somethin’ special, indeed.”

He nods fast, his soft cheeks flushing again. “Yes ma’am, we would love for you to come visit Wednesday for our new weekly bible study. Four o’clock. You can see the work we do.”

People standing by start clapping.

I stiffen slightly. “I usually don’t...”

Shoot. I am never invited on the spot like this. I glance at my phone on the tripod. Five-thousand viewers and they are leaving heart emojis like wildfire.

The chat floods with: DO IT! STREAM IT!

“Wednesday, why not?” I say a little reluctantly, forcing a smile.

I don’t know what Down syndrome is. I better read about it.

Noel combs his hair with his fingers nervously before leaning in for a hug. I return the embrace, but honestly, it’s weird hugging people who seem a little too into it. And this guy... he’s hugging me so tight it hurts.

Is he sniffing my hair?

“Okay, hon,” I say and politely peel him off of me.

He bites his bottom lip. I hope he isn’t expecting more full-body hugs.

I look into the camera and invite the viewers to join me for the Bible study at the Center for Special Hearts. Bailey, my assistant, adds it to my schedule.

A bodyguard ushers Noel along, and the next person takes his place. The cycle repeats. An hour later, my feet hurt in these heels and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Backstage, I carry my high heels and slip into the dressing room to grab my things.

Gabe appears behind me, and his lips skim my neck.

“Are you crazy? Someone might see.” I whisper-hiss and spin around.

“Come on, Morgan. Nobody cares if we’re dating.”

I flip my hair and side-eye him. “Dating?”

“After last night, I thought—”

I gasp and hold up my hand to silence him. “Nothing happened, understand?”

Which is somewhat true. We didn’t have penetrative sex.

He rolls his eyes.

If he wasn’t sweet and cute, I’d scold him for it.

He’s an all-American boy. A perfect gentleman.

Kind, generous, spiritual, and soft-spoken.

He’s lean, my height, handsome enough, and has brown eyes.

His nose is big, but he’s confident, so I don’t mind it.

I just don’t like him pressuring me whether it’s sex or a relationship. This is not the right time or place.

“Are we hanging out tonight?” he asks.

I cringe inwardly. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Sorry. Busy. Only Saturdays after youth service. I have to go,” I say, and slink away before he can protest.

I pass the money room and punch in the code. Inside, Dad counts stacks of cash with Eugene, our finance chair. The big safe is open behind them. Its steel mouth yawns wide, thick bolts exposed like teeth.

“Good week?” I ask.

Daddy beams at me. He’s a gorgeous older man. Silver threads his hair at the temples. The corners of his eyes crease when he smiles, practiced warmth that photographs beautifully. Women always love him. His looks are a plus for the church, but it’s his charm that makes him so popular.

He opens his arms and gives me a hug.

“Yes, a great week, sweetheart. They loved your solo today. Some checks have notes about your beautiful voice.”

“Aww,” I say, truly flattered.

His tone dips. “Did you have fun with Gabe? Heard you had a date last night.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “Did Gabe tell you that?”

“Yes. Your mother and I always knew you two would be a fine pair. He’s a nice boy.”

“He is,” I mumble.

But I don’t want a boy. I want a man. Not that Gabe is lacking, but I feel like I am.

What we did went further than it should have, and still, nothing inside me bloomed the way the sermons promised it would.

I keep wondering if something is wrong with me. If love is supposed to be loud and overwhelming, or if I’m simply unable to feel it.

Maybe we need to slow down. Start with a date. Physical acts must wait until marriage.

Subtly, I wince because that plan doesn’t bring peace.

I kiss Daddy on the cheek and head for the door. Before leaving, I turn and ask, “What is Down syndrome?”

Daddy cocks his head, his expression curious. “Something with chromosomes. You’ve seen them. They have squinty eyes and, to put it politely, are slow.”

“Oh,” I murmur, though that didn’t sound polite. Jesus would say it nicer.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was invited to a Bible study for people with Down syndrome. I guess my followers are really into it.”

He nods knowingly. “I see. Is it that place run by the Killborne boys? Special Hearts?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

He narrows his eyes. “Stay away from the eldest one.”

His voice lowers.

“Jack. He has an attitude unbecoming of a lady like you.”

Something in my chest tightens, the way it does when a massive storm looms in the distance.

“Um, okay. I’ll avoid him,” I reply.

I don’t intend to make the visit long, anyway. Just enough to let my followers swoon over those special people. It’s a little selfish, but I hope it’ll help wash away the sin from my naughty-night with Gabe.

I hold myself as guilt eats at me. One minute, I’m fine. The next, I’m mortified I let it go that far.

“Morgan! Great service tonight,” says a happy voice.

Ingrid, my best friend and social media manager, opens the door to the parking lot. Night air rushes in, humid, heavy, and buzzing with cicadas and distant traffic.

“Gabe was looking for you earlier. Wonder why?” she adds teasingly, since I already told her what happened. She’s the only person I can trust with such a dark secret.

I groan loudly. “He’s acting like we’re engaged now.”

She giggles in that bubbly way she does. She’s all shine and movement. Blonde hair curled tight. Glossed lips. Phone already in her hand like an extension of her body. She believes good lighting can fix almost anything.

As is often the case, her voice rises when she’s excited.

“Well? Are you planning on doing it again?” she asks.

“I shouldn’t, especially since it wasn’t fulfilling, but everyone thinks we’re supposed to be together. Gabe could get better at it, right? It was his first intimate experience, too.”

“Oh, babes. Some guys never get good at eating a girl’s kitchen.”

“Can we not say it out loud?” I whine. “It makes it feel worse.”

Her expression softens. “No, don’t worry! He is a pastor. God can forgive two good-intentioned souls. Also, Gabe would never tell anyone. It would make him look deviant. You are simply human. It’s not sex-sex, either. That’s for your future husband, who frankly, is Gabe.”

I nod exaggeratedly, like that will make her words wash away the quiet dread.

“Relax, Morgan. God forgives you.”

Yes. She’s right. God forgives me. God forgives me.

“Ingrid, I just wish Gabe made my heart go pitter patter. Maybe if I loved him, I wouldn’t be so conflicted.”

She cringes. “Love doesn’t make anything easier. Just let go and let God.”

I restrain the urge to roll my eyes.

That saying is solid advice, except for me. My life is already planned. If I let go, nothing changes. I’ll stay on the same path because the walls my father built are too high.