Climbing into the twin bed she had always slept in, she tried to not think about the man who, with just a touch, had turned her into a wanton slut. Until she was in his arms, she didn’t even think he was very attractive. He was just Pastor Ruston. But once he’d touched her, her body craved more of him. And she wanted to touch him everywhere.
With any luck, he would have been so drunk, he wouldn’t remember what had happened. How was she going to face him Sunday morning?
CHAPTER3
Ruston had spentthe morning trying not to think about Hazel, just like he had spent the previous day. Now here it was, a bright and sunny summer morning, and all he could do was search her out in the crowd. As the time to start services drew near, he decided she was not coming.
If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t show up. Smiling, he thought about the shoes that were right now in his office. He was going to give them back to her.
When he had made it to his parents’ home, Thomas had been on the steps waiting for him, acting like it wasn’t him who had abandoned Ruston at the party.
“What happened to you, man? I turned around, and you were gone. I thought you had just left, but you weren’t here either.” Thomas wanted to know.
“You were making out with someone, and then you were gone. I figured you were hooking up, so I left.” Ruston sat down next to his best friend, shoes clenched in his arms—no way was he losing them now.
Thomas leaned over and grabbed a shoe from him. “What’s this? Not your style, Rusty.”
Ruston looked at the shoe still in his hand and smiled. “I maybe stayed a little longer than I said I did.”
“What happened?” Thomas was all smiles.
“I don’t even really know. Did you hear the singer who sang ‘Life in a Northern Town?’” he asked, still looking at the army shoe that was so small compared to his own foot.
“Yeah, she was great. I’ve never heard that song sung so good.” Thomas confirmed what Ruston already knew.
Holding up the shoe to Thomas, he said, “I know her. She’s one of my parishioners. I’ve never heard her sing before.”
He looked at the shoe, something else he had never known about her, that she could be a punk rocker when she wanted to be. Not once did she give off that vibe to him over the years. He knew her: just a small-town girl with a son and family who loved her.
“Oh man, you did the whole preacher thing, didn’t you? Talked to her about her problems. Did you get her to get back together with her boyfriend?” Thomas wanted to know.
Ruston laughed. Over the years, he seemed to find the girl at a party who just wanted to forget about her ex. What should have turned into an easy lay turned into long talks. Then, after a while, off she would go, making up with the man she had wanted to forget. Ruston was always left wondering how it happened. “Nope, no talking.”
His friend looked over at him, handing him the shoe back. “You didn’t.”
“Unfortunately, we did. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute we were dancing, and the next, we were not.” Ruston’s mind went back to that room and her body against his, her hands touching his, his touching her. He wanted to touch her again.
“And you know her? And she’s a part of your flock?” Thomas was all-out laughing at him.
“Yes.”
“You fucked your flock?” Thomas said, still laughing.
“Don’t talk about her like that, Thomas. There’s something about her. I just don’t know what to do about it.” Ruston had spent the walk there trying to figure it out. He hadn’t found the answer to that yet.
“Are you going to date her? She looked pretty young. Hot, but young.” Thomas stopped laughing and was now serious.
“I don’t think she would date me. I’m surprised she danced with me,” Ruston replied, repeating the conclusion he had come to on the walk.
“You’re a catch, Rusty. Any woman would love to date you,” Thomas tried to reassure him.
“Not Hazel. She’s been there since I started. Until today, I’ve never touched her.”
“What do you mean? Touch her? You’re not really supposed to touch your flock. I think it’s frowned upon.” Thomas was trying to understand.
“She’s one of those people who you can tell who goes to church because someone makes them—her grandparents in her case. She doesn’t listen to my sermons, she doesn’t sing songs, she doesn’t volunteer for things. Just stares off into space for an hour and goes home. In fact, she doesn’t shake my hand at the end of the service.” Ruston had noticed all this over the past few months. It had started to bother him just after last Christmas.
It had been then when he had started noticing her more and more. Which was why he knew she didn’t pay attention, because he was suddenly paying attention to her every week.