Rachel Lee - July Thunder

It would be. It also included The Return of the Native, Pride and Prejudice, Captain Blood (for the boys) and a lot of other classics, like Catch-22 and The Old Man and the Sea. She’d had to go to the mat over some of them last year before the school board, and she was prepared to do it again.

But now she found herself looking into the eyes of a new enemy, one who could be considerably more powerful than the handful of parents who had complained last year.

She felt her dander rising but tried to remain civil. “Among other books,” she said pleasantly. “I always feel it’s best to introduce young people to a wide variety of the greatest works of literature. It tends to be instructive in ways that help them better avoid some of the errors and temptations of life, not to mention exposing them to powerful writing.”

So take that, she thought almost childishly.

“The Bible is powerful writing.”

“Indeed,” she agreed with a smile. “Very powerful. But it’s wisest to leave that in the hands of ministers, don’t you think? I’m sure you’d be very unhappy with me if I pointed out the apocryphal nature of some of the Biblical stories.”

And thank goodness Sam’s patrol car pulled up across the street just then. Escape was at hand. But then she noticed that Sam didn’t get out and come join them. Why not, if he knew this preacher?

“There’s nothing apocryphal about the Bible,” Elijah said sternly.

“Not about its message, no,” she agreed, clinging to her smile. “However, I’m sure some of the stories are more illustrative than factual. But I have to go now, Reverend, so I’ll leave the Bible in your capable hands. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

Except banning books in my school, she thought irritably as she crossed the street and climbed into the patrol car beside Sam. Then it struck her as odd that Sam hadn’t even climbed out to open the car door for her. That didn’t seem like him. What was going on here?

“That man,” she said as Sam pulled away from the curb, “is going to be a major thorn in my side, I know it.”

“He enjoys being a thorn,” Sam said levelly. “It’s his stock-in-trade. Don’t get into it with him, Mary. You’ll regret it.”

“I have a feeling he’s going to want to ban books.”

“Probably. He has everywhere else he’s been, as far as I know.”

She turned in her seat and looked at him. “Sam, what’s going on? Who is he? Do you know him?”

“I used to know him,” Sam said after a moment.

“Friends? Relatives?”

They were almost at the store before he responded. “He’s my father.”

A million questions occurred to Mary, but she didn’t voice them. The store simply wasn’t the place to have such a discussion.

Sam pushed the cart for her while she selected items and dropped them into it. He seemed preoccupied, which gave her the opportunity to look his way frequently without being detected. He was a strong man in his mid-thirties, with a face attractively lined by exposure to the harsh mountain elements. His gray eyes, so unlike the icy-blue of his father’s, were warm, even now when he seemed low. And never, not once, had she ever found him to be anything but kind.

A remarkable man. A handsome man. One who would give women little heart flutters simply by smiling. As well she knew.

She remembered his late wife only slightly, a petite dark-haired woman with a thousand-watt smile who always seemed to be laughing. Sam must sorely miss her. Which, she told herself sternly, was one of the best reasons to ignore those little flutters.

Besides, marriage wasn’t for her. She didn’t deserve such happiness.

But she owed Sam something for going out of his way, so she picked up extra for dinner, determined that he was going to eat with her tonight. No matter what he said. No reason for him to go back to his empty house, and no reason for her to spend the evening alone, worrying about that preacher across the street. Besides, it would give her an opportunity to ask one or two of those millions of questions that kept popping up in her mind.

At the very least, learning about Sam Canfield would keep her mind off her own problems.

Which, she told herself, was a very selfish way to think. Okay, so she was selfish. Maybe it would be good for both of them to talk a little.

But nothing more than that. Not ever.

Sam helped carry Mary’s groceries in for her. From across the street, where the moving activity had ended, leaving only a locked-up trailer in the driveway and a battered Oldsmobile parked out front, he could almost feel his father’s eyes boring into his back.

Elijah wasn’t in sight and might not even have been there, but Sam could still feel his presence and had to steel himself not to dart any looks in that direction. For all he knew, the old man was staring out a window at him.

Although why Elijah would do that, he couldn’t imagine. He hadn’t cared to look on Sam’s face in fifteen years, and he hadn’t seemed any happier to see him on the road today.

But the feeling persisted anyway, and he was glad when he carried the last bag into Mary’s kitchen.

“You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” she said to him as he set it on the counter.

Part of him just wanted to escape to his safe hermitage, but another part of him couldn’t resist the warm friendliness of her smile. He stood there, torn, and realized that his social graces had apparently gone the way of the dodo, because as his silence grew longer, her face began to fall.

He couldn’t allow that. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like to.” Then he added, so she wouldn’t misunderstand, “Eating alone is the pits.” Then it struck him that that had been an ungracious thing to say. Damn, he sounded like he’d been raised in a stable.

The corners of her mouth lifted, however, letting him know she hadn’t taken his words amiss. “It sure is,” she said. “And it’s absolutely no fun to cook alone. What we need to do is start a singles dining club. Get a group of us lonelyhearts together to cook for each other once in a while.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” he allowed, although in truth he had no intention of socializing that way. He’d avoided all the singles clubs in town because he was convinced that whatever they claimed was their purpose, their members were all after the same thing: marriage. And he didn’t want that ever again.

He unpacked the grocery bags for Mary, handing her each item so she could put it away. The way he’d once done for Beth, because she’d been convinced he would screw up her pantry organization if he put things away himself. His heart squeezed painfully at the memory.

“Are you all right, Sam?”

Mary’s voice, quiet and sweet, drew him back to the present. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

Her brow knitted with concern and maybe a bit of disbelief, but she didn’t press him about it. He handed her a container of grated Parmesan cheese, and she turned away to tuck it into the cupboard.

Then she gave him another kick in the heart. “So that’s your father moving in across the street?”

He couldn’t blame her; her curiosity was natural. But he wished she would talk about the weather, the upcoming school year, or even his job. Anything but this. On the other hand, he couldn’t be rude.

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled some cans of soup out of a bag.

“I take it you don’t have a good relationship?”

He gave a harsh crack of laughter. “That’s an understatement.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a minute he thought she was going to leave it there. But women never left anything there. A man would have, but a woman always wanted to pry into a guy’s heart. Hadn’t he learned that with Beth? Secrets were anathema to women. Particularly secrets of the heart and soul.