Excerpt of Tangled Reverence
Copyright ? Darie McCoy
Pastor Atarah Cox stood behind the lectern in the pulpit of the church she dearly loved, allowing her gaze to travel over the assembled members of the congregation. Her message this Sunday was designed to convict, but also remind the membership of their first duty as believers—being helpers. So, she’d preached from the Gospel According to Matthew. Specifically, on the topic surrounding why Jesus entered the temple, turned over tables, evicting the money changers, and all others who were doing business inside.
When her eyes landed on Cyrus Lauder, she noticed the firm set of his jaw beneath his neatly trimmed beard. Even if she hadn’t, the rigidity in his shoulders as he sat ramrod straight in the pew was hard to miss. Unlike some of the parishioners who were visibly squirming, he was stock-still. No. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He was angry. His cognac-colored eyes appeared darker as they flashed with his discontent.
Good. It was no more than he deserved for what he’d pulled with the board, luring the majority of votes to his side in favor of selling the property she wanted to renovate to further their community outreach. Smugness was unbecoming, but Atarah felt it welling inside her as she regarded the results of her convicting sermon. It was one which would’ve made her daddy proud.
That is, if he was still speaking to her after her refusal to give up on being the pastor of her own church to settle for being a first lady and head of the Deaconess Board. Shaking away the unpleasant thought, Atarah wrapped up as normal, before going to her position at the door to shake hands as people exited the church.
She was feeling pretty good about herself when she entered her office to remove her robe and gather her things to leave. There weren’t any other activities planned for the day. So, she was looking forward to stopping by her cousin’s house for Sunday dinner. Iva had sent her a message saying she was cooking Atarah’s favorite. Pork chops smothered in gravy, cabbage, sweet corn with cornbread sounded so amazing her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
As she turned from placing her robe into the closet, her breath caught in her throat. Cyrus stood framed in her doorway. His nostrils flared with his deep inhale as he stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him.
Lifting one eyebrow, Atarah closed the closet door and stood in front of it with her arms folded. Waiting.
“Just what was that all about?” Cyrus’s normally deep voice sounded like someone had scraped sandpaper over his vocal cords.
“Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Lauder.” Unfolding her arms, Atarah crossed the room to her desk. Her reference to him as Mr. instead of Brother was purposeful. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”
“You know d—” Cutting off the likely curse, Cyrus squared his shoulders and lowered his voice. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. It was no coincidence you decided to teach that particular lesson today after what happened with the Lloyd property this past week. You did it just to goad me.”
Sniffing, Atarah reached into the left-hand bottom drawer of the desk to remove her purse. Even after no longer working in the corporate world, she wasn’t able to break the habit of storing it there.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I don’t structure my sermons around you. I wouldn’t deign to try to diminish your importance. But everything isn’t about you, Cyrus Lauder.”
It was good the Lord didn’t see fit to strike people down for lying on church grounds, because she would’ve had a lightning bolt to the ass for that one.
“It’s funny you should call it a lesson rather than a sermon though. Is it because you actually learned something today? Could it be you now understand the concept of ministry?”
Looking down at her purse, she dug inside to locate her keys. She had no intention of entertaining him a moment longer. President of the church board or not, he didn’t get to just show up in her office trying to chastise her about what she preached. Warmth hit her back before she was whipped around by Cyrus’s hold on her upper arm.
“Excuse you! I know you didn’t just put your hands on me!”
Atarah really wished the heat flooding her body could be totally attributed to anger, but it would be as big a lie as when she told Cyrus her sermon wasn’t aimed at him. His light brown eyes were shooting daggers; however, she held his gaze with fire in her own.
Removing his hand from her arm as if direct contact with her skin burned him, Cyrus leaned closer to her. He was no longer physically holding on to her, but his big body kept her trapped between him and the sturdy wooden desk.
“Don’t do that.” When he finally spoke, he didn’t bother to address his handsy behavior.
Atarah’s frown was pointed as she returned his glare. “Don’t do what? And is it necessary for you to be this close to me? You’d never treat a male pastor this way.”
“I wouldn’t have to explain to a male pastor why we shouldn’t throw money at a derelict building. He would understand how fiscally irresponsible it is to use the church funds that way.”
Atarah’s jaw dropped. The nerve of this Neanderthal. This pompous misogynist. Putting a hand up, she pressed against his chest, trying to create space between them.
“You know what? You are completely out of line, not to mention rude. I’m not having this discussion with you. I said what needed to be said at the meeting. If you can’t handle a mirror being held up to your actions, maybe pray about it or seek therapy. Either way, this conversation is over.”
Ignoring her bid for space, Cyrus maintained his posture. Initially, Atarah was just irritated. After all, they bumped heads regularly. But, he was taking things too far this time. Pressing both hands to his chest, she used more strength to shove him back.
He didn’t move. Not an inch. However, what did happen was her hands were trapped beneath his, right before his lips came crashing down on hers. What the hell? Her shock was swiftly eclipsed by the heat blazing beneath her skin.
He tasted better than she’d imagined. Even though she regretted it afterwards, she’d had more than one fantasy about Cyrus Lauder and the possible talents he had with the tongue currently tangling with hers.
“Oh! Pastor! Brother Lauder! I didn’t—I mean—Oh my!” Celia’s jumbled words trailed off as Cyrus snatched away from Atarah.
Atarah’s fingers were still aloft when he backed away. The separation was so swift, she nearly toppled over, because she hadn’t realized she’d begun to lean on him during their kiss. In the split second it took her to fully comprehend what happened, Celia had already turned away. The slamming door was like a bucket of ice water being poured over Atarah’s head.
What had she done?