Jodi Thomas - The Secrets of Rosa Lee

“Morning, Preacher.” Lora returned his smile as he glanced up from his paper. “How’s today treating you?” His eyes didn’t seem so sad when he smiled. He blinked as if she’d caught him deep in thought. Studious. That was the word for him.

“Morning, Miss Whitman. How are the battle scars?”

She twisted on the stool and showed him the huge Band-Aids covering her knees. “They hardly show under my hose.”

He glanced down, then looked away.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled and straightened.

“For what?”

“Guess I shouldn’t be showing my legs to a preacher.”

He lost his grin. “Guess not,” he answered. “After all, we’re not men. Not quite human.”

If she could have, Lora would have pulled Micah Parker to her and hugged him. She’d never heard someone sound so miserable in her life. She hadn’t thought of it before, but he was right about the way people think of men in the church. Ministers weren’t like other people.

Polly delivered Lora’s breakfast with a thud. “It’s still hot from the fryer, so be careful.”

The chocolate sauce bubbled across the top of the round cinnamon roll. Lora took a deep breath. “Chocolate and grease, my two favorite food groups.”

Micah’s smile returned. “How often do you indulge in this slow form of suicide?”

“Every Tuesday,” she answered as she cut off a bite and blew on it. “I came home on a Monday after my divorce. We moved what little I had left into storage, set me up an office next to my father’s at the dealership, and I went to sleep in the twin bed I’d slept in most of my life. The next morning I thought I couldn’t get out of bed. Nothing…nothing would make me want to face this town, this job, my failure.”

Micah winked. “And then you remembered.” He pointed to the roll.

“Right,” she laughed. “My reason to live.” She pushed the first bite in her mouth.

Micah folded up his paper as Polly slammed down his oatmeal and wheat toast. “May I have one of those rolls?” he asked politely.

Polly groaned. “Instead of this?”

Micah quickly added, “Oh, no, for dessert. I still want this order.”

Polly mumbled something about breakfast don’t have no dessert as she moved away.

“You’re very brave, Preacher. Not many locals have the nerve to change their order once Polly writes it down.”

He tasted his oatmeal. “I must be living dangerously lately.”

“I’ll say,” Lora agreed.

As they ate, they talked about yesterday. Neither had much in the way of news, but it felt comforting to rehash the details. They were like veterans in an unknown war.

After Polly delivered his roll, Micah said, “Sidney’s getting out of the hospital today. I talked with the sheriff when I came in and he said Will’s driving the ambulance over to pick her up at no charge.” He tasted his cinnamon roll and shoved the oatmeal aside. “I really don’t know her, but I feel like I do. I’d like to go check on her this afternoon and make sure she’s settled in at home, but…”

“But it might not look right.” She could see his problem. Single minister visits single teacher in her home alone. The town would fill in the blanks. Lora fought the urge to swear. Living in Clifton Creek reminded her of stepping back in time. They might have the Internet and cell phones, but sometimes she expected the theme song from Mayberry R.F.D to start playing out of thin air. She handed Micah her business card with all her phone numbers on it. “Call me when you’re heading over and I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks.” He shoved the card into his vest pocket. “You worried, too?”

“In some way we all became a family yesterday. Billy even commented about how we need to watch one another’s backs.” She shuddered. “I’ll be glad when we can vote on what to do with that old house. Give our recommendation to the mayor. Forget about the committee. That old place has years of bad vibes. I’ve heard stories about it all my life.”

“Maybe the drill bit flying was just a onetime, freak thing that happened,” Micah mumbled between bites. “It probably had nothing to do with us, just kids playing around. Maybe they wanted the house to fall thinking there would be a park or something else put in its place?”

“Maybe. But if it wasn’t?” She pictured zombies running down Main Street all carrying drill bits as they screamed the committee members’ names. Horror movies always had a group of people on the monster most-wanted list. “What if someone singled us out?”

“Then we fight.” He plopped the last bite of the roll in his mouth and stood.

“Great,” Lora whispered as she waved him goodbye. She was going to war with a regiment from the monster appetizers menu and the preacher thought they could fight.

Ten minutes later, when Lora made it to her office, she could still hear Micah’s determined words. He surprised her. Weren’t men of the cloth supposed to be meek? He seemed kind and thoughtful, but meek wasn’t a word that fit that minister. Yesterday when he’d removed his coat and only wore a shirt and trousers, he’d definitely been relaxed. Today in his brown suit he looked more official.

As she turned toward the car dealership’s set of offices along the back wall of the showroom, Lora wasn’t surprised to see a man sitting on the corner of her desk. Her father thought the floor plan of see-through office walls and no doors except on the restrooms made the place look welcoming and honest. Lora thought it more a bother. Anyone trying to sell her anything could camp out in her office until she showed up. Dora, her father’s secretary and the unofficial hostess, would even serve them coffee.

She waved at Dora. The middle-aged greeter waved back. Her father’s statement about the right combination of fat and meat crossed Lora’s thoughts. She shook the possibility out of her head. Her mother would kill her father by slow endless conversation if he even looked at Dora.

Walking into her cage of an office, Lora ignored the young man dressed as if he had just stepped out of a line dance. She put up her purse and removed her jacket. She couldn’t miss the width of his shoulders, or his Western clothes right down to his fifteen-hundred-dollar boots and pressed jeans. He wasn’t here to try to sell her pencils and caps with the logo of the dealership.

She raised an eyebrow in interest as she shoved her briefcase under the desk. If he needed a car, he would have been waylaid by one of the salesmen before he could make it to her office.

Finally, with everything in order, she faced him. “May I help you?”

His smile seemed calculated. Not too wide, not too innocent. “I certainly hope so, Miss Whitman. I’m Talon Graham. My friends call me Tal.” He waited as if expecting her to recognize the name.

Lora had seen his type before. In fact, she’d married one of the tribe. Handsome, well-mannered, high-maintenance, used to getting his way. The kind of man who wanted a blonde on his arm. Trouble was, she’d been that blonde once before and no longer wanted the role.

Since he obviously knew her name, she asked again. “How may I help you, Mr. Graham?”

He stood. “I’m in oil exploration by profession, but I’m here as president of this year’s Rodeo Association. I’d like you to help me make next year’s rodeo the best Clifton Creek has ever seen.”

“The rodeo’s nine months away. We don’t need to plan advertising yet.” She wanted to add that, hopefully, she wouldn’t be in town nine months from now, but with what her father paid her, it was a possibility. Also, men in oil exploration weren’t known to stay long in one place.

“I know, but it may take some time.” He winked. “First I plan to organize a huge fund-raiser to improve what Clifton Creek laughingly calls a rodeo grounds. Second, I’d like to get to know everyone in town, or at least anyone who will help.” He stood, towering over her. “Your daddy told me yesterday that you wouldn’t mind introducing me around. As an outsider, I’ll need to move in the right circles fast.” He glanced down, seeming almost shy. Almost. “He said you would be at my disposal whenever needed.”