"I have, and I quit!"
She dashed from the office, feathers flying, then snatched up her purse and ran outside to her car where she promptly collapsed against the steering wheel and burst into tears. Had she really expected him to fall in love with her just because she'd cantilevered her breasts? She was still the same dull, pathetic woman who'd lived most of her life mooning over a man who would never in a million years moon back. Except now she was jobless, too.
Through her tears, she saw the back door fly open and Ethan come running out. She couldn't let him see her like this, a pathetic loser crying over her miserable life. She snatched her keys from her purse and shoved them in the ignition.
"Kristy!"
The engine roared to life. He ran toward her. She shot out of her parking space.
He rushed to the side of her car. "Stop it, Kristy! You're overreacting! Let's talk about this."
That was when she did the unthinkable. She rolled down the window, thrust out her hand, and gave Reverend Ethan Bonner the bird.
Two days had passed since Kristy had shown up at the church dressed like an upper-crust hooker, and Ethan still hadn't gotten over the shock. "Look at the way she's carrying on!" His glare took in the Mountaineer's postage-stamp dance floor, where Kristy Brown was dancing with Andy Miels, who was nearly ten years her junior.
Her movements were a little self-conscious, but no one sitting at the bar's rustic pine tables seemed to notice.
Kristy had shown up at the Mountaineer in a tight black skirt that ended at mid-thigh and a clinging, deeply cut melon-colored top displaying a full set of breasts that no one had ever suspected she possessed. She'd accessorized the outfit with a glittery black-and-gold Y-necklace, the tip of which nestled at the top of her cleavage. Her fake diamond studs sparkled through the wisps of dark-brown hair that fluttered around her face as she danced.
Until Kristy had walked in, Ethan had been eating a hamburger and trying to extract information from Gabe about his relationship with the black widow. Last week when Ethan had caught Rachel trying to steal the chest that held Jane's computer disks, he'd wondered if his brother and Rachel might have something more going on than a work relationship. The possibility scared him to death. By now, Rachel had to know that Gabe was wealthy. He'd always been careless about finances, and she was the worst sort of opportunist. Every time she looked at him, she had to see a walking, talking cash machine.
But his probing into Gabe's private life had come to an abrupt end when Kristy arrived. "She came in here alone!" Ethan exclaimed. "She didn't even have the decency to bring a girlfriend." He glared at Kristy's dancing partner. "And I swear, Gabe, she used to baby-sit Andy Miels!"
"Doesn't look like either of them is thinking about that now," Gabe said.
Kristy was no stranger to the Mountaineer. Since the county was dry, local residents paid a minimal membership fee to belong to private "bottle clubs." The Mountaineer also had a small restaurant toward the front that offered the best food in town and a lively bar in the back that frequently served as the town meeting place.
The Mountaineer was entirely respectable, and, over the years, Kristy had lunched here often and shared dinner in the quaint dining room with family or friends, but no one had ever seen her like this. Alone. In the bar. At night. And dressed like this.
Ethan could barely contain himself. "Do you know what she did Tuesday in the parking lot after she ran out on me? She gave me the old one-finger salute. Kristy Brown!"
"I believe you've already mentioned that," Gabe said. "Three times."
"She's moving into her condo this weekend. Don't you think that someone who's probably spent the day packing up boxes should be too tired to party?"
"She doesn't look real tired."
Kristy laughed at something Andy said and let him lead her back to the table he was sharing with a couple of his college buddies, who'd come to visit. They looked like a bunch of slackers to Ethan. Caps turned backward, earrings, scraggly goatees stuck to their chins like fraying Brillo pads.
Well-built slackers, though. Andy played football for North Carolina State, and the size of the others at the table made Ethan suspect they were his teammates.
"This is all Rachel Snopes's doing."
Gabe's fingers tightened around his glass of club soda. "Her name is Stone. Rachel Stone."
"She's turned Kristy into a—a slut."
"Watch it, Eth."
"Her clothes are so tight it's a wonder she can move."
"But she's moving all right. Look at that." Kristy had just propped her arms on the table and leaned forward to hear something one of the football players was saying. "She's—she's sticking herself right in their faces!"
"It's hard to believe you never noticed that chest until now."
"You didn't notice, either."
"I haven't worked with her nearly every day of my life for the past eight years."
Ethan's frustration boiled over. "It's a good thing she quit because otherwise I'd have had to fire her. How could I have my church secretary behaving like that?"
Gabe spoke mildly. "She doesn't dress much different from Laura Delapino or Amy Majors, and you seem to admire them."
"They're not Kristy, and I don't know why you're being so stupid about this. She was fine until the Widow Snopes moved in with her. It's obvious that corrupting Kristy is just one more part of Rachel's plan to upset this town."
"You think she has a plan?"
Ethan shrugged.
Gabe's voice dropped. "You listen to me, Eth. It's taking every resource Rachel has just to keep her head above water. She's been shunned, her tires have been slashed, Annie's cottage vandalized. Don't talk to me about her plan to upset this town."
He was right, but Ethan's flash of guilt disappeared as he watched Andy tilt his beer mug to Kristy's lips. He shot to his feet. "That's it! I'm getting her out of here."
From across the bar, Kristy watched Ethan storm toward her. He'd ironed his T-shirt again, she noticed. It was very old, vintage Grateful Dead, but one of his favorites, and he took good care of it.
Ethan's clothes were always neat. He'd even pressed his perfectly faded jeans. His blond hair was well-cut and combed into place, his eyes liquid blue. Once his mother told Kristy the Bonner family had a great, unspoken secret. Although no one ever said it aloud, they all loved Ethan the best.
Well, not Kristy. She didn't love him the best. He'd betrayed her, and now she was immune to that Gospel-preaching, God-speaking rat.
"Kristy, I'd like to talk to you."
"Shoot," she managed, just as sassy as anything Rachel would have come up with. For good measure, she added a head toss that sent her little feathers flying.
She wouldn't let him see how crushed she'd been by his attitude Tuesday morning. Afterward, she'd rushed back to the cottage and gathered up all her new clothes to throw them out. But then the sight of her reflection in the old cherry mirror over the dresser had stopped her.
As she'd gazed at herself, she finally understood what Rachel had been trying to tell her from the beginning. If she were going to do this, she had to do it for herself, not so she could catch a stuffy glamour boy of a preacher with the emotional maturity of a sixteen-year-old. That was when she'd decided she owed it to herself to give her new image a fair test trial and see how she liked it.
"I want to speak with you in private."
He wanted to lecture her. Without thinking, she picked up a napkin and began dabbing at water rings. It had taken all her courage to come in here alone tonight, and she wasn't up to being yelled at. She shook her head.
His voice grew harder. "Now, Kristy."
"No."
"Fuck off, asshole."
Andy's roommate had spoken, and Kristy stared at him, shocked. Nobody talked to Ethan like that. And then she remembered that Jason was from Charlotte and didn't know who Ethan was.
Andy punched his friend in the arm. "Uh—sorry about that, Pastor Ethan. Jason's not from around here."
Ethan gave them both a stare that threatened eternal damnation, then turned his Elmer Gantry eyes back on her. "Kristina, come with me immediately."
The jukebox launched into "You Don't Own Me."
Kristy's stomach curled with nervousness. She gathered up a crumpled cocktail napkin, cellophane from a package of cigarettes, and moved the beer pitcher closer to the center of the table so everyone could reach it more easily.
He leaned over and spoke so softly only she could hear. "If you don't do as I say, I'm going to pick you up and carry you out of here."
He didn't look like Pastor Ethan, everybody's friend, and belatedly Kristy remembered that he had a temper. He didn't display it often, and he was always remorseful afterward, but this wasn't afterward, this was now, and she decided not to take any chances.
Rising with as much dignity as she could muster, she nodded. "Very well. I suppose I can spare you a few minutes."
Ethan was not gracious in victory. "Darned right you can."
He took her arm in a firm grasp, but as she stepped forward, she found her nervousness easing. A fuzzy pink cloud had settled over her, bringing with it a feeling of well-being. She wasn't used to drinking, and although she'd barely finished two beers, she realized it had been enough to make her a bit giddy. It felt wonderful, and she decided that Ethan could preach at her all he wanted, and it wouldn't bother her one bit.
Ethan led her toward his car. As they approached, he used his free hand—the one that wasn't fastened to her arm—to pat the left pocket of his jeans. Not finding what he wanted, he tried the opposite one, then reached around to explore the back pockets.
He'd forgotten his keys again. They were undoubtedly lying on the table inside, which was why she always kept a spare set in her purse.
She automatically reached for it, then realized she wasn't carrying her old purse of many pockets, but a trendy little quilted number on a gold chain. She also remembered that Rachel had told her to stop mothering him.
"I left my keys inside." He held out his hand. "I need the spare set."
Good old reliable Kristy Brown. His absolute certainty that she would be carrying his spare keys—even though she no longer worked for him—poked a large hole in her fuzzy pink cloud, and she realized she wasn't nearly as drunk as she wanted to be. "That's unfortunate."
He released her arm. Giving her an irritated look, he hooked the purse by its chain and drew it off her shoulder. She watched in silence as he riffled through its contents.
"They're not here."
"I don't work for you anymore, remember? I don't have to carry around your keys."
"Of course you still work for—" He froze. Slowly his hand emerged from her purse holding a small square foil packet. "What is this?"
She was mortified. Her skin flushed, and that embarrassed her even more, until she realized it was too dark in the parking lot for him to see. She took a deep breath and struggled to speak calmly. "It's a condom, Ethan. I'm surprised you've never seen one."
"Of course I've seen one!"
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because I want to know what it's doing in your purse."
Her embarrassment faded, replaced by anger. "That's none of your business." She snatched it away from him, slipped it back into her purse, and returned the strap to her shoulder.
Two couples, one of whom belonged to Ethan's congregation, came out of the Mountaineer. Ethan grabbed her arm again and pulled her toward his car only to come to a stop as he remembered he couldn't get in. He glanced toward the couples, who were just beginning to move off the porch, and she knew he wanted to get away before he was spotted.
The Mountaineer was located on a quiet dead-end street between a children's boutique and a gift shop, both of which were dark for the night. Across the street was a small, wooded park with some picnic tables and play equipment. Ethan apparently decided the park was the closest escape because he turned her toward the street, and, with a none-too-gentle grip, led her there.
On nice days, local businesspeople ate their lunches on the picnic tables that were scattered underneath the trees. Using the light of the street lamp to keep from stumbling, Ethan led her to the most secluded of the tables.
"Sit down."
She didn't appreciate his bossy manner, so instead of sitting on the bench where he indicated, she stepped up on it and sat on the tabletop. He had no intention of relinquishing his authority by sitting below her, so he took a place at her side.
His legs were longer than hers, and they bent at a sharper angle. As she glanced over at him, she thought she saw him looking down her top, but when she heard the stuffy note in his voice as he spoke, she decided she'd been wrong.
"I'm your pastor, and the fact that a single woman in my congregation is carrying around a condom is very much my business."
Why was he acting like this? Ethan always respected people's choices, even if he didn't agree with them, and she'd heard his youth-group lectures on sexual responsibility. He vehemently preached abstinence, but he was also blunt about birth control and AIDS prevention.
"Every single woman in your congregation who's sexually active had better be carrying some of these around," she observed.
"What do you mean, sexually active? Who are you—I mean—But—How—"
Ethan Bonner, known for his sexual straight talk, was sputtering. He finally gathered himself together. "I didn't know there was a man in your life."
The last of her fuzzy pink cloud evaporated, and a sort of desperate boldness took its place. What, after all, did she have to lose? "How would you? You don't know anything about my life."
He seemed genuinely shocked. "We've known each other since elementary school. You're one of my oldest friends."
"Is that the way you see me?"
"Of course."
"You're right, I'm your friend." She swallowed, mustering her courage. "But you're not mine, Ethan. Friends know things about each other, but you don't know anything about me."
"What do you mean? I know lots about you."
"Like what?"
"I know your parents, the house where you grew up. I know that you broke your arm two years ago. I know lots of things."
"A hundred people know things. But they don't know me. Who I am."
"You're a decent, hardworking Christian woman, that's who."
"It was no use. She had tried to talk honestly to him," but he wouldn't hear. She began to stand on the bench. "I have to go."
"No!" He drew her back down. In the process, her breast brushed the side of his arm. He drew back as if he'd touched radioactive waste.
"Look, I'm—I'm not trying to offend you. Your sex life is your business, not mine, but, as your pastor, I'm here to advise you."
She hardly ever got angry, but that sparked her temper. "I'm not asking for advice, Ethan, because I've already made up my mind! That condom is in my purse because I'm making changes in my life, and I want to be ready for them."
"Sex before marriage is a sin." He didn't sound at all like himself. He shifted uneasily next to her, as if he realized he was being unbearably pompous. Once again, his gaze seemed to linger on her breasts. He looked away.
She spoke forcefully. "I believe it's a sin, too. But I also believe there's a hierarchy of sins. Don't try to tell me that murder and sexual molestation don't rank a lot higher on the list than a thirty-year-old unmarried woman finally deciding she's had enough of being a virgin."
She waited for him to express some surprise at her untouched state, but he didn't, and her spirits sank even lower as she realized he assumed she was a virgin.
"With whom do you intend to have it?"
"I don't know yet, but I'm looking. He obviously has to be unmarried and intelligent. And sensitive." She emphasized the last word, so that he'd understand this was a quality he'd never possess in a thousand years.
He bristled like a porcupine. "I can't believe you're ready to throw away a lifetime of propriety for a few carnal thrills."
, He was sounding stuffier by the minute. "What's propriety gotten me? I have nothing that's important to me. No husband, no children. I don't even have a job I like."
"You don't like your job?" He sounded both hurt and mystified.
"No, Ethan. I don't like it."
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"Because I've been a wimp. It was safer for me to be depressed about my life than make changes."
"Then why did you stay all these years?"
That was one question she couldn't answer honestly. He probably knew anyway that she'd stayed because she was in love with him. "Fear of change. But I'm not afraid any longer."
"Rachel is responsible for this, isn't she?"
"Why do you dislike her so much?"
"Because she's taking advantage of Gabe."
Kristy didn't believe that at all, but Ethan was in no frame of mind to listen to reason. "You're right. Rachel is responsible because she's given me courage. I've never met a woman I admire more. She's living her life on the edge of catastrophe, but she never complains, and she works harder than anyone I know."
"Gabe's made it easy for her. He's given her a job and a car. He lets her stay in Annie's cottage and pays for Edward's day care."
"That's confidential. And Rachel has given Gabe a hundred times what he's given her. It's as if he's come alive since she's been here. He even laughs sometimes."
"His grieving has run its course, that's all. It has nothing to do with her. Nothing!"
Arguing about this with him was hopeless. For some reason, he was determined to be blind and stubborn when it came to Rachel.
His mouth set in a stubborn line. "I'd appreciate it if you'd at least give me the courtesy of two weeks' notice instead of leaving me in the lurch."
He had a point. Quitting like that hadn't been right, no matter what he'd done. She thought about how difficult it would be seeing him every day for the next two weeks. Still, she'd been doing it for eight years. What difference would another two weeks make? And it would be nice to have a paycheck while she looked for a new job. "All right. But only if you keep your nose out of my private life. And my wardrobe."
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Kristy. It was the shock of seeing you look so different."