In Defense of Love (Carmen Sisters Book 2)

by Pat Simmons

  “Pray without ceasing. The Lord sent you there for a reason.”

  “Do you think Shari could be the reason?”

  Moses didn’t answer right away. “I won’t assume anything, and neither should you. You’ve always been a praying man, which is why the devil targeted you with Brittani. Don’t stop praying. If you get the right woman, you won’t regret it.”

  Deputy U.S. Marshal Kyle Adams stuck his head into Garrett’s office. “We’ve narrowed down two locations on Harris Forge—an ex-girlfriend’s house or his grandmother’s.”

  Nodding, Garrett pushed back from his desk. He had a good excuse to end the call before his grandfather began to regale him with tales of the antics of his great-grandchildren, especially the boys. “I’ve got to go round up a bandit,” he said, using the deputy U.S. marshals’ term for a fugitive that was either suspected of or convicted of a crime and was hiding from the law. “Talk to you later. Love you, Grandpa.”

  Harris Forge was a suspected bank robber who had injured two security guards in his last holdup. The marshals had been hunting him for weeks.

  Garrett and two other deputy marshals were stationed outside a home on West Huntington Street in the Strawberry Mansion neighborhood. Residents in that crime-infested part of North Philly rarely snitched.

  While the lead deputy knocked on the door to serve the warrant, Garrett and the others were on standby at the back door and side door in the event that the fugitive tried to run or started shooting. To their relief, Forge came quietly. His eight-year-old daughter had opened the front door while he was in the bathroom. When he came out, he surrendered so not to alarm his daughter. Forge’s grandmother didn’t seem surprised to see them.

  The day ended with one man in custody but thousands more on the run. Once Garrett got home, he had no problem switching his focus. He showered and dressed for Bible class. The more his eyes craved to see Shari, the more Brittani’s face and expanding waistline competed for his thoughts. Why was the image of his ex-fiancée spiritually tormenting him? What happened to “out of sight, out of mind”? In all honesty, he was still trying to put back together all the pieces of his broken heart. Garrett was thoroughly confused.

  Some answers come by fasting and prayer, the Lord whispered to his spirit.

  “And I have been fasting twice a week,” Garrett said, pleading for an understanding of this madness. “Lord, I asked You what I should do when Brittani became pregnant. I fasted and asked how I should handle that disgrace, and You sent me away from my family and friends. So here I am in Philly to regroup, start over, and enrich my spiritual life, not jump back into a relationship. Jesus, what is going on? Did You plant Shari in my life?” Garrett poured out his soul in prayer.

  To everything there is a season, the Lord whispered. Weeping endures only for a night.

  Garrett recognized the passages from Ecclesiastes and Psalm 30, and he paused to meditate on what God had said to his spirit. After a moment, he picked up his Bible and flipped through Ecclesiastes until he found the passage in chapter 3, his eyes then falling on verse four: “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

  He had already mourned his loss in the love department. If Shari made him laugh, then he would truly have something to dance about, because Psalm 30:5—“joy cometh in the morning”—had yet to be accomplished. When no other words came from the Lord, Garrett finished his grooming and walked out the door with more uncertainty swirling in his head. The primary question was, Had Shari gotten the same memo from God?

  Once he arrived at the church, Garrett opened the door to the sanctuary and silently scanned those gathered there. It seemed as if his eyes guided him to Shari. She was seated with another woman, and Garrett slid into the pew behind them.

  He knelt and prayed for thanksgiving to return to the house of God, then made himself comfortable on the padded seat. He leaned forward to make his presence known. “Good evening, ladies, and praise the Lord.”

  Almost in sync, the two women looked over their shoulders.

  Whoa. John had described Shari’s mother as “possessing timeless beauty,” and the woman looking back at him definitely had it. So, this was how the Carmen sisters would age to perfection. The mother had the same long lashes and flawless skin as her daughter, though her complexion was very fair in contrast with Shari’s dominant African heritage. Yet the resemblance was striking. Shari’s sassy curls were gone, replaced by a long, thick silky ponytail that showcased her facial beauty even more. She was the type of woman who didn’t need hair to enhance her looks. She’d be just as gorgeous without it. Still, Garrett preferred women with long hair—at least to the shoulders. Shari had that length, plus a whole lot more.

  “Brother Nash.” Shari’s reception was pleasant, but there was no sparkle in her eyes to hint that God had spoken to her on his behalf.

  Garrett pushed back a tinge of disappointment. It appeared he was going to have to work for her attention and affection. Was she worth the challenge? Time would tell. “What passage is Pastor Underwood teaching from tonight?” he asked.

  “Galatians, chapter six,” the duo responded in unison.

  “Thank you.” He twisted his lips in amusement as he sat back and opened his Bible. He flipped through the pages while his heart pounded faster with excitement of the unknown regarding Shari. For the next hour, Garrett listened to the Word but studied Shari’s every movement—from the way she sat erect with her head tilted to the side to the moment she made a note on her tablet when God opened up her understanding about something.

  “There are works of the flesh, which are worldly and lead to death. But with God, there are fruits of the Spirit….” For the next fifteen minutes, Pastor Underwood broke down verses 18 through 23 from Galatians 6. Then he began wrapping up the message. “We’ll end our discussion tonight on the attributes of a Christian, but remember, if you’re ever in doubt on what is acceptable before God, it’s right here.” The pastor patted his Bible and concluded the class. Everyone stood for the altar call, then prepared for the offering.

  After the service, Garrett inched forward again. Two distinct perfumes mingled for a unique blend. “Would you ladies care for an escort to your car?”

  Shari’s mother beamed. “Why, Brother Nash, isn’t that nice of you? A sister can never be too careful. By the way, I’m Annette Carmen—Sister Carmen—Shari’s mother.” She needlessly identified herself as she extended her hand, which was incredibly soft. “My second eldest daughter, here, spoke highly of the party your family gave your grandparents in Boston.”

  Garrett thanked her but couldn’t take his eyes off Shari. “She was definitely the highlight of the evening,” he told Mrs. Carmen. “Trust me.”

  After the benediction, the three of them strolled out the sanctuary. Tonight, he was serving as bodyguard for two lovelies.

  As they crossed the parking lot, Mrs. Carmen chatted away, while Shari said very little. What was she thinking? He never would’ve guessed she was an attorney. She appeared too timid to defend a case.

  They stopped at a stylish black BMW X6. Garrett smirked at the similarities in her tastes and his as he held open the passenger door for her mother. Before he could extend the same courtesy to Shari, she was already behind the wheel and had started the engine.

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Garrett stepped back and watched as Shari drove off, giving him a slight wave. As the taillights faded into the distance, a prayer came to him. “Lord, please don’t let the reason for her presence in my life be for her legal services.” Then, twirling around, he trekked to his vehicle and drove home.

  ***

  Shari shivered.

  “Cold?” her mother questioned, turning up the heat in the car.

  Goose bumps were spreading under Shari’s wool coat faster than an allergic reaction, and it had nothing to do with the weather. It was Garrett. The night of the banquet, he’d been a blur, but tonight, it had been as if he was in 3-D without special glasses
necessary.

  Oddly, she had sensed his presence in the pew behind her before his deep voice had verified it. Maybe it was the scent of his cologne, the same type he’d worn the night of his grandparents’ anniversary celebration. A detail she hadn’t realized before that moment.

  “I think he has a crush on you,” her mother stated, as if Shari’s thoughts were written on a marquee above her head.

  “Huh?” Shari frowned.

  “Brother Nash.” She grinned.

  Shari shook her head. “Right. First Faith, and now you, saying the same thing.”

  “And you don’t see it?” Her mother tsked.

  “I see he’s a good-looking brother who was flirting with my mother,” Shari teased. Then she sobered. “Seriously, I don’t want to read more into his actions beyond face value. Not every man who offers to walk two women to their car has romantic intentions toward one of them. We’re brothers and sisters in Christ, and fellow band members. That’s all.” She wasn’t about to entertain the idea of being anything more.

  Her mother silenced the radio. Shari started to protest, because gospel artist Tamela Mann’s latest song had just started on 103.9, but it appeared Annette had an agenda.

  “Sharmaine Lynn Carmen, when did you become so cynical? You’re young, stunning, and single. You’re supposed to be hopeful and full of faith that love will come one day.”

  Resting her elbow on the armrest, Shari sighed. “Mom, you know I’ve had a few false starts when it comes to relationships, and there’s always a reason. I’ve heard it all—men feel threatened by women who make more money than they do or who have more education…. It’s fine. I’ve worked and studied hard to make this career my companion.”

  “Sweetie.” Her mother’s voice softened. “I agree you don’t need any insecure men in your life, but God has a standard of Christian men who aren’t intimidated by strong, successful, independent women. I don’t know what Brother Nash does for a living, but he can be my bodyguard anytime. He comes across as very confident.” She giggled. “Plus, he is cute with his dark chocolate self.”

  “Mommy’s drooling,” Shari teased in a singsong manner. “But talk about a double standard. Skin color still matters. Our black men are marrying other races, and when they do marry African-Americans, the light-skinned sisters are the first pickings; we ‘darkie’ sisters are just a last resort.” Shari swallowed. “I may be in that percentage of black women who never get married.”

  It always pained her to be called “darkie” when she was growing up, but her father countered the sting with his term of endearment—“Egyptian ballerina.” Even now, she cringed when men whispered behind her back that she was pretty…for a dark-skinned woman. What did that mean? That a woman couldn’t be pretty unless she was white or fair-skinned?

  She would never forget the hurt she’d felt when she overheard a boyfriend’s mother say, “Do you really want to have children as dark as her, son?” That comment had resulted in a hasty conclusion to the relationship—Shari’s decision. Why should she pine away for a superficial relationship with someone who had such a shallow mind-set?

  For the most part, Shari had outgrown the pity parties of her childhood and adolescence. But it had never ceased to bother her that her skin tone still determined the way some people treated her and judged her character.

  “You’re simply beautiful!” her mother snapped. “Your sisters, especially the younger two, even envy your looks. Brecee still tries to wear fake lashes to make hers look as long as yours, and remember when she was a preteen?” She paused and chuckled. “I don’t know how many times I had to stop her from walking around the house grinding pencils into her cheeks, trying to give herself dimples like the ones God blessed you with.”

  Her sisters. Shari smiled as she turned her SUV toward their home on West Gorgas Lane. “I miss that brat,” she said, trying to steer the subject away from herself.

  “Listen to me,” her mother said, pointing a finger at Shari. “Men are like grass. They come in all different types of brands—Zoysia, the top of the line, all the way down to crabgrass. Every now and then, weeds try to camouflage themselves as real grass, but eventually, they get choked out.”

  “It seems like my relationship ‘yard’ is mostly weeds,” Shari mumbled, sounding pitiful even to her own ears. In the courtroom, Shari’s colleagues called her “fierce” and compared her to a lioness fighting for her clients; but whenever it came to the subject of relationships, doubts crept in. Maybe she was going through a premature midlife crisis before she hit thirty.

  “I’m just being honest, Mom,” she went on. “I don’t see a man, a marriage, or children in my near future. And I won’t be disappointed if God doesn’t see fit to bless me with a mate.”

  “Not even a little?” Her mother used her thumb and forefinger to indicate a tiny amount. “I think it’d be very interesting to see a man sweep you off your feet.”

  Shari grunted. “I haven’t tripped over a man in a long time.”

  But, to be fair, bad relationships were equal-opportunity terrors that happened to women of all colors and ages. Her younger sister Shae was sweet and pretty, with skin the color of caramel. Yet that hadn’t kept her from suffering through a horrible relationship. Because of that experience, Shae had uprooted herself from her first television gig in Nebraska and moved to St. Louis, where she was still recovering. As a favor to Shae, Shari should’ve sued the man for misrepresentation.

  Their father had always said that when things seemed too good to be true, they usually were. Shari thought about Garrett. What was his story, really? Why had he relocated to Philly when all his family lived in Boston? Had it been for a job promotion? Or was he running away from something—or somebody?

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Shari was back in her comfort zone, in her element—the courtroom.

  “Your Honor, the alleged evidence against my client, Mr. Eric Smith, should be suppressed and thus thrown out,” Shari argued. “His prospective employer, Network Security, conducted a botched Internet background check and retrieved the criminal court records of a distant cousin who bears the same name and date of birth. It was that Eric Smith who used his relative’s social security number when he was arrested for illegal possession of narcotics—”

  Shari suddenly lost track of her rehearsed speech when she glanced away from the judge and her gaze connected with that of Brother Garrett Nash. In the blink of an eye, her heart skipped a beat, and everything blurred. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a familiar face in criminal court. What had he done?

  “Counselor,” Judge Dempsey warned her, “the court is waiting.”

  Regaining her composure and gathering her thoughts, Shari nodded. “My apologies. As I was explaining, in a rush to claim the ten-thousand-dollar reward on Eric Smith, the personnel manager contacted the police and set up a bogus interview for my client. The sting operation landed him in jail. The authorities failed to conduct a full investigation, at the expense of my innocent client’s liberty. That probe was stifled by the detective’s willingness to accept the personnel manager’s word without so much as a fingerprint analysis, which would have revealed a case of mistaken identity.”

  After making her concluding argument, Shari approached the judge and handed him a stack of information that was overwhelmingly in favor of her client. “Your Honor, please find attached Defense Exhibit one, with exculpatory evidence completely negating my client’s guilt.”

  The judge studied the documentation for a moment, then called for a month’s continuance to review the papers. Shari countered with ten days. “Your Honor, it is no fault of his own that bad blood runs in his family and two cousins’ identities were switched. Each day my client spends in custody, a grave injustice is allowed. Every minute he is deprived of his liberty as an innocent man, a miscarriage of justice is perpetuated. And every second he is permitted to be detained, justice is delayed.”

  As expected, the judge approved her request. Shar
i grabbed her briefcase and took a deep breath as she turned to leave, intending to ignore Garrett. Whatever he was doing there, it wasn’t her business to inquire. Whatever it was, she could pray for mercy within the criminal justice system. She knew of too many Christians who lived double lives. But for some unknown reason, she would be disappointed if she found out he was one of them.

  She could feel his eyes on her. Don’t look at him. Don’t even peek. Then she looked. Although no smile seemed forthcoming from him, there was a gentleness in his expression. That was when she noticed his blue polo shirt and the badge hanging from his neck, and it clicked: Garrett was a deputy in the U.S. Marshals Service. They were very much part of the court landscape.

  She exhaled with a smile and continued through the doorway to meet her next client in the hall. That was two days in a row that their paths had crossed. If she told Faith what had happened, her friend would be screaming in her ear before picking out a wedding gown, telling her it was “fate by faith.”

  Shari didn’t believe in coincidences. She had been taught as a child that God connects all the dots in people’s lives for His divinely decided end result, which, in this case, was…what? She didn’t have much time to dwell on that, as her next defendant stepped off the elevator, prompting Shari to revert to attorney mode.

  ***

  Now was not the time for Garrett to obsess over a woman, especially one who hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him after Bible class.

  He wasn’t supposed to be in court that morning, but when another deputy had called in sick, and others were still on an early morning stakeout, he’d had to escort a drug lord to court. He smirked. Thank You, Jesus. He’d finally gotten a glimpse of the real Shari Carmen.

  As soon as they’d entered Judge Dempsey’s courtroom, Garrett’s heart had leaped like a bloodhound picking up a scent when the object of his mental distraction had materialized. The shy, quiet band member had blossomed into a fireball, and her transformation had thrilled him as she’d commanded the attention of everyone in the room.