Endless Chain. Emilie Richards

      Chapter Three

      “SO WHO’S THE Mayan goddess, Sam?”

      Sam helped Christine out of the tricked-out Dodge Viper, the likes of which the simple brick parsonage had never seen. “Elisa has applied to be our new sexton.”

      “Sex-ton?” She raised one shapely brow. “Are we getting right to the heart of the matter, honey?”

      He pulled her close and kissed her hair. Her body was warm and soft against him, and his reacted accordingly. “It’s not like you to be catty.”

      “Hey, I’m just marking my territory like a good pussycat. She’s a head turner. Even the preacher man noticed.”

      “The preacher man is not immune to a beautiful woman, but he’s committed to another one.”

      Christine lifted her lips for a luxuriant kiss, then she put her arm around his waist, and he led her up the flagstone walk. “She is beautiful, but I’m not worried. She’s not your type.”

      “You could have fooled me.” Sam said it as a joke, but he realized he was still annoyed at his attraction to Elisa and concerned it might get in the way of his decision whether to hire her.

      She punched him lightly. “You like a woman with education and plenty of style.”

      “And you think those are the things that attracted me to you?”

      “What else do I have to offer besides sex, and somebody else could deliver that? I’m not good minister’s wife material. You know God and I have an understanding. I don’t pay Him much attention if He promises to return the favor. We get along, but we’re not bosom buddies.”

      “You’re a better person than you think you are.”

      “And that’s why you want to marry me? The strength of my character?”

      He didn’t have to answer. They had been engaged for almost four years, through better and worse times, the latter of which said enough about her character to impress him. She knew it.

      He returned to the subject of Elisa, hoping he could talk his way to a decision. “I’ve had four applicants for the sexton’s job, and we’re getting desperate. Two are men with questionable work histories. The other won’t take the job unless we raise the salary substantially. Then there’s Elisa, with good references and a willingness to work hard. She walked to the interview from her mobile home park, and that’s four, maybe even five, miles away. She’s determined.”

      “She lives in a trailer?”

      He imagined Elisa’s home, even new, had not cost as much as the Viper Christine had borrowed so carelessly.

      He tried to tamp down a surge of annoyance. “She’s poor. So what? That means very little, Christine.”

      She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “I smell a sermon coming on.”

      They had reached the front gate. He had installed a picket fence hoping it would keep Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in check whenever they escaped through the front door. Shad and Shack, canine mixtures that probably included Irish wolfhound and St. Bernard, sailed over it with enthusiasm. Bed, a tiny rat terrier, simply stood at the gate and barked incessantly. Now there was a chain link dog run in the back for those rare moments when the dogs weren’t under his direct control.

      “No sermon,” he promised, “and end of subject.”

      “I don’t suppose you’ve replaced the dogs with something a shade more refined?”

      “Like a porcelain cocker spaniel?”

      “You know me so well.”

      “Not as well as I hope to again.”

      She nudged his hip with hers. “Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder?”

      He unlocked the front door. Their sex life, or lack of it, was no longer a subject of real debate. He was a heterosexual male with all the requisite urges. They had been lovers in the days when their wedding date was on the calendar and their invitations at the printer. But now that the date was long past and the invitations interred at a Georgia landfill, they no longer made love.

      When he didn’t respond she settled her hip firmly against his, brushing it back and forth. “I’m always ready and willing.”

      He closed his eyes, and for a moment, temptation was the only thing on his mind. His body responded exactly the way she had known it would. She was not as convinced of the need for abstinence as he was. “How can I talk to the youth group about controlling their budding sexuality if I’m not controlling my own?”

      “You’re an old-fashioned man.”

      “Who needs an old-fashioned commitment and a wedding date before he takes his woman to bed. And that’s pushing liberal as it is.”

      She moved away, and they were no longer touching. “Just for the record, I wasn’t intending to lecture your youth group about our sex life. Or lack of it.”

      It was time to change the subject. “Brace yourself.” He opened the door and stood in the opening to fend off his dogs. He thought they were relatively well-behaved for young, slobbering dogs. He loved the three of them unreservedly.

      “Nice dogs,” Christine told them, screwing up her face. “Nice pen outside?” she asked Sam.

      Christine’s parents, former Georgia governor and congressman Hiram Fletcher and his wife, Nola, had two spoiled shih tzus that Christine adored. Sam was astute enough to recognize the difference.

      “I’ll be back.” He whistled for the dogs, who, having ascertained that Christine did not have food or affection to offer, covered the distance to the kitchen in great leaping strides. Or rather, Shad and Shack did. Bed, who weighed all of thirteen pounds, followed as fast as she could.

      He returned a few minutes later to the sound of forlorn howls from the dog pen. The dogs were too well-behaved to continue for long.

      Christine had made herself at home in his kitchen, and she flipped on his coffeemaker as he entered. He began to open all the windows. “Have you had lunch?” she asked.

      “I’m not even sure I had breakfast.”

      “I’m starved. I had to be at the airport at dawn. I’ve been up forever.” She opened the refrigerator. “Want an omelet?”

      “That’s a lot of trouble. I have some leftovers. I did a stir-fry last night.”

      She peeked over the top of the door. “You made it?”

      He tried not to smile. “Uh-huh.”

      Her eyes widened. “I’ll do omelets.”

      He was perfectly satisfied with his own cooking and never understood why others weren’t. There had been a time in his life when the meals he now prepared for himself would have tasted like five-star cuisine.

      “I’ll do toast,” he said.

      She considered a moment. He could read her indecision. “Christine, I can toast bread, I promise.”

      She shrugged and dove back into the contents of his fridge. Sam hoped she wouldn’t remove everything inside. From experience, he knew he would have to replace anything she took out, as well as wash and dry every plate, cup and frying pan. Christine liked to cook, but she did not clean up after herself. She had never needed to and couldn’t see why she should start now.

      He thought of Elisa, who cleaned up after anybody