Chapter Six
Wren
Seven Years Ago
I’ve gotten four texts from Zane asking why I haven’t posted to social media yet this morning about my charity work, two more from Tilly with vulgar comments on Father Anderson and his bulging biceps, and a couple from my mom asking when I’m stopping by for dinner this week.
I know I should get back to everyone, but I’m currently ignoring all responsibilities in favor of worship, though what I’m worshipping is up for debate at this point.
All I know for sure is that I’m definitely not staring at the big man with strong shoulders and dark ink peeking out from beneath his robe.
No, that would be crazy.
“He’s a good-looking man, isn’t he?” Leanne leans into my side and whispers low, a beat of sarcasm in her tone.
I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it. He’s a priest.”
“Sure,” she continues, “but I think he’s frustrated.”
My gaze widens as I glance toward the woman to my side quickly, then back toward Father Anderson.
“What?” the blonde continues. “You don’t think a big, strong man like that isn’t going to go home at night frustrated as hell? He’s a human male. The man must need relief.”
I don’t know how to respond. The whole church is currently on their feet singing a hymn, and this woman is whispering in my ear about the priest’s carnal needs.
“I saw the way he looked at you.”
“What?” I hiss, not bothering to look toward her.
“Don’t play dumb. You showed up here in that cute little dress and that smile like you want to help, but we both know you’re a lonely housewife looking for attention. Apparently, innocent and dumb is Father Anderson’s type, but I’ve been here, putting in the hours. The much-needed time.”
I want to give this woman a piece of my mind, but we’re nearing the end of the sermon and the whole congregation is standing in song, clapping and swaying back and forth.
If I freak out right now, who knows what I’d be starting.
Besides, freaking out assumes she’s right, and she’s not.
She’s misguided, and I’m sure there’s some religious rule about helping misguided people that doesn’t involve a slap in the face.
“I think you should stop now,” I say. “I’m a married woman.”
“And he’s a man of God, but at the end of the day… a man of God still has needs.”
The song ends, and Father Anderson dismisses the congregation, as Betty, his lovely mother, tucks her hand into mine and leads me out of the pew, away from Leanne and toward the front of the church.
“I’ve got to go help get ready for the potluck, but the rectory is right behind that door. Kade will be back shortly.”
I lean into the sweet woman for a hug, breathing in the scent of leather on her skin. It’s comforting and reminds me of my grandparents’ place. They had a little hobby ranch up in the mountains I used to spend summers at. The whole place smelled like leather, freshly cut grass, and wild berries.
Betty smiles kindly before joining the small group of women dressed in modest floral dresses and wide-brimmed hats. Their husbands were with them a moment ago, but they’re now congregating at the back of the church talking and laughing.
Leanne has disappeared, thankfully. I’m not sure I could take anymore of her right this second. It doesn’t take much to see she has a desperate need for attention, but it’s sad the way she’s focused it all on a priest.
When I step into the rectory in the back of the church, I’m hit with the scent of Father Anderson. It’s a very specific mix of vintage woods and earthy pine that’s permeated into the layers of the church… and his skin. Masculine, yet down to Earth. That’s him in a nutshell.
A nutshell I shouldn’t be smelling.
There’s a solid wood desk in the center of the room, and to the left, two modestly appointed chairs, both wood as well. I couldn’t tell you what kind, but they’re dark and worn like they could use a sander and a clean brush of stain. Then again, the worn look is part of the charm.
I sit in the chair closest to the door and take in the portraits of biblical scenes I don’t understand.
The most prominent one is labeled Stations of the Cross, and while I’m sure there’s some grand religious sentiment to this piece of art, it’s also very dark and depressing.
I mean, there’s a man with a cross and he’s sort of kneeling down like he’s in pain while a bunch of other holy looking people try to lift him up.
It’s not something I’d want to gaze at while having my coffee in the morning.
I’m sure the fact that I even thought that is awful.
Next to the painting is a photo of the church when it was first built. Or rather, that’s what I assume, given that the date beneath the picture is May 5, 1932.
“Wren,” Father Anderson says, stepping into his office.
He’s had a wardrobe change since I saw him ten minutes ago.
Now he’s wearing jeans and a black button-down with that collar thing around his neck.
His sleeves are rolled up slightly, dark ink on his flexing forearms as he leans his massive frame against his desk and stares toward me.
“I’m really happy you’re here. I like the idea of gathering folks to help fix the church.
We’ve got plenty of people from all walks of life that have varying degrees of expertise. We could—”
I’m sure he’s saying something very important, but I’m finding myself lost in the way his deep voice echoes in this small room. It’s not intentional, and it’s not sexual, but it’s obvious. I’m a married woman, though it’s noticeable the way he commands the space.
“Wren?”
“Oh, sorry. Umm… I have a thousand things on my mind right now. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah? Does it have anything to do with whatever Leanne was saying to you? I saw her whispering during the hymns. She can be aggressive.”
“You see everything, don’t you?”
Birds chirp outside the window to the hum of folks talking as they prepare for the potluck and the bake sale.
He grins. “Not usually, but I was keeping an eye on you.”
“An eye on me? Why?”
“First time in our church.” He leans up and paces behind his desk, lowering himself into the wooden chair that’s barely big enough for him. “I want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself. Leanne didn’t put a sour taste in your mouth, did she?”
“No,” I grin, “but I totally think she’s into you. She was definitely staking her ground. Apparently, I’m a threat.”
“Are you now?” he groans under his breath as he presses his hands on the top of his desk. “Why’s that?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Apparently you were looking at me like you were interested.”
He shakes his head deliberately. “Did you feel like I was looking at you like I was interested?” The words come out slowly and deeply, sending a sparkle of energy through my groin I’m not expecting.
I do my best to ignore it, though the masculinity pouring off of this man makes it nearly impossible.
He’s so big, strong, and unlike a lot of men, when he opens his mouth, I believe he’s still capable.
Like he’s the kind of guy who’d remember a conversation you had about loving strawberry ice cream, then find the best strawberry ice cream in the state and drive you there just for a cone.
Like he’s the kind of guy that wouldn’t grab you by the arm so hard he leaves bruises.
Ugh. I hate that I thought that.
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you were at all. I was surprised when she said it.”
“Good,” he says, glancing away. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” I glance down at the pine wood floor and study the knot at my feet before glancing up again, “that’s good.”
“So you and your husband want publicity, I’m sure,” Father Anderson says, clearing his throat.
“My husband wants publicity. I’m not so good at the showman stuff.”
“Must be hard being married to a mayoral candidate then. Your life must be very public.”
My chest tightens as he talks. “I knew what I was getting into when I married him. I just… I don’t think I really thought it all through.
I’m a small-town girl. I like simple things.
A wildflower field, Sunday supper, a quiet creek for reflection.
My husband likes the fancier things in life…
which is great for me.” I grin, suddenly feeling defensive of my own feelings.
“I get to see a lot of fancy hotels, and the places I’ve been…
I’ve seen the sun rise over the Serengeti. I’m a lucky woman.”
The priest stares at me for a long moment, his big hand brushing over his beard as though he sees through every shield I’m holding.
Priests aren’t psychic, right? I should’ve paid more attention to my grandma when she was talking about her faith.
“Are you happy?” Father Anderson narrows his brows and shifts his weight in the chair.
“Never mind. I’m sorry I asked that. It’s none of my business.
You seemed conflicted, and it’s my job to counsel, but I overstepped.
I’m sorry. You’re not here for counsel, you’re here to help. So… I’d like to work out a deal.”
There’s something about him that makes me want to tell him everything.
Maybe it’s the collar. Maybe it’s that he’s the first person to see through the fake smile I wear.
Maybe it’s the pain in my arm still throbbing from where Zane grabbed me last night.
I don’t know what it is, but I want to spill every detail about my life and let him comfort me.
For once, I want to fall safe in the arms of a man and know that it’s actually safe to be there.
That’s what priests do, right? They provide comfort? Guidance?
“A deal… yeah.” I push away the urge to trauma dump with the priest, grabbing a notepad and pen from my bag before leaning forward. “What kind of deal do you have in mind?”