Naughty and Nice (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  “You find me reprehensible, do you?”

  “Absolutely. You are the most irresistible—” She might never have known her blunder if he hadn’t laughed. “See... you’ve got me so upset, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

  “I think you know exactly what you’re saying.”

  “Ohhh... I don’t even know why I bothered to speak to you. You’re my worst nightmare come true.”

  She whirled around, intent on making a dramatic exit, but he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.

  “Get your hands off me. Is that any way to treat an angel?”

  “If you’re an angel, I’m a saint... and I’m certainly no saint.”

  “How well I know.”

  “What else do you know?”

  Too late, Holly realized that she had started this fracas. She might as well finish it.

  “Enough to make me sick at my stomach,” she said.

  He probed her with the darkest stare this side of Hades. She wondered if he saw what a hypocrite she was, on the one hand hating him and on the other wanting to kiss him.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Particulars.”

  “Let’s start with stealing.”

  “Stealing?”

  “Don’t play the big innocent with me, Ben Sullivan. At the price you paid for that farm, you might as well have put on a mask and taken it at gunpoint from poor Michael and Jo Ann Snipes.”

  “The bank foreclosed: I purchased at a fair price.”

  “You call less than the mortgage fair? Not only do you have their farm, but they’re still paying off the difference.”

  He showed no remorse. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the darkening of his eyes, she would have judged him devoid of all emotion.

  “I’m a thief.” His voice was so cold it nearly made her shiver. “What else?”

  “You’re a scoundrel.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “See! You can take a little boy’s pet without blinking an eye.”

  “I took a pet?”

  “Not just a pet. Henry.” He didn’t bother to ask who Henry was; he just lifted that damnable eyebrow. “The donkey.”

  “The donkey is nothing but a nuisance. The child is welcome to him.”

  “The donkey won’t leave without Gertrude.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me who Gertrude is?” His eyes sparkled with something suspiciously like humor. Was he laughing at her?

  “Gertrude is the cow. She and Henry are best friends.”

  “The Snipes child can have Gertrude too.”

  “The Snipes child? You take a family’s home, and you don’t even know their names?”

  He didn’t bother to defend himself. In other circumstances, she might have found that admirable; after all, she was shooting from the hip now, each shot wilder and more unreasonable than the last. But that’s the way she was: all or nothing at all. Take the Snipes family, for instance. To most of the people in the church, they were merely a charity case. But to Holly, they were individuals in need of the kind of loving attention she could provide.

  “For your information,” she said, “the little boy is Timmy, and he doesn’t have a place to keep the animals now, thanks to you.”

  “You give me too much credit,” he said.

  It was a mild rebuke considering that it came from an unprincipled rogue.

  “I’m surprised you had the nerve to show up tonight,” she said.

  “I take it the benefit is for the Snipes family.”

  “You take it right.”

  He raked her from head to toe with piercing eyes, then strode toward the door.

  She wanted to say good riddance, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the principles of love and kindness, not that she hadn’t already trounced these principles into the mud.

  “Too bad you have to leave,” she said in a very kind fashion.

  “You think I’m leaving?”

  He was smiling when he turned around. It was the kind of smile that should strike terror in her heart—if he hadn’t already struck so many emotions that there wasn’t room for one more.

  “You’re not?”

  “No, I’m not.” That smile flashed again. “I haven’t had my dinner yet.”

  Holly could picture it: Ben Sullivan sitting at one of the tables eating her roast beef, too big to blend in with the crowd and too gorgeous to pass unnoticed. How would she ever get through the evening?

  “The roast is tough and the muffins are burned,” she said.

  His hearty roar of laughter filled the hallway.

  “One thing you should know about me: I always do what I set out to do, and I came to eat.”

  Eat what? she almost blurted out. Fortunately her guardian angel was on duty, and she was saved that mortification.

  Without another word, he disappeared into the fellowship hall and left her clinging to the donation box and whatever shreds of dignity she had left. It ought to be a sin for an enemy to come wrapped in a package as blatantly sexual as Ben Sullivan.

  “Lord, what am I going to do?” she whispered.

  Loweva suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms akimbo and mouth pursed.

  “No use asking what went on out here. Any fool can see.”

  “See what?”

  “Women don’t get all bright eyed and flushed unless there’s a man done rung their bells.”

  “Ben Sullivan did not ring my bells.” Loweva gave her a look she knew too well. “All right, okay. So what if he did ring a few? I can handle it.” Another look from Loweva. “Well, I can.”

  “How about handling it from the kitchen? Everybody’s running around back there like chickens with their heads cut off.” Loweva rolled her eyes. “Lord deliver me from volunteers.”

  Glad to have something familiar to do, Holly swept back into the fellowship hall and straight toward the kitchen, focusing every one of her senses on the task ahead. In spite of all her efforts, she couldn’t miss Ben Sullivan sitting at the table between two of the best-looking women in the church, one a blonde so skinny, she had to take tucks in a size two and the other an exotic raven-haired beauty with a body so showy that she wore short shorts to jog even in winter.

  “Naturally,” Holly fumed, watching them fawn over him. Or was it vice versa? “What did I expect?”

  “About what?” Loweva asked.

  “Nothing.” Holly jerked a pan of rolls out of the oven and almost set her bedsheet on fire. “Shoot!”

  She rolled back the flapping sleeves and set about doing her job. The Ben Sullivans of the world probably wouldn’t consider it much of a job—social director of a large church—particularly since most of it was done in the kitchen. But Holly loved people, she loved cooking, and she loved entertaining. What better way to combine all three than in the fellowship hall of Holy Trinity?

  “Why don’t you let me do that before you set yourself on fire?” Loweva took the pan out of her hands. “Whose idea was that angel suit anyhow?”

  “Mine.”

  Loweva rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how come I even asked.”

  “Christmas angel... Christmas spirit. I thought it would get everybody in the mood for donating a generous sum to help the Snipes family. I wish we had a bigger crowd.”

  “You fixing to pass the collection box?”

  Holly had a vision of herself winding among the tables with donation box in hand, standing so close to Ben Sullivan that she got drunk on the scent of his woodsy aftershave. There was no way she was going to put herself within touching distance of that man again.

  “Loweva, will you—”

  Loweva stopped her dead with a speculative look that meant a long-winded lecture would be forthcoming as soon as the kitchen cleared out, a lecture she’d given Holly many times before. Holly called it Loweva’s “How Come?” tirade. “How come you all the time falling for the wrong man?” was usually the way the lecture started, followed
by “How come you let that low-down skunk get the best of you?”

  “Never mind,” Holly said. “I’ll do it myself. Now where did I put it?”

  “Here.” Loweva plucked the collection box off the cabinet right in front of Holly. “If it had been a snake, it’d have bit you in the tinsel.”

  The first thing Holly saw when she turned around was Ben Sullivan, a rapt expression on his face. Unfortunately all that rapture was turned in the direction of Miss Size Two. She wanted to hit him over the head with a muffin pan.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and smoothed down the sleeves of her bed sheet, but there was nothing she could do about the rest of her appearance, short of a shower, a shampoo—and a six-week stay in an expensive spa. Damp tendrils clung to her neck and her face, and her head was beginning to itch from the tinsel halo. Not to mention that the sheet she wore was a vintage model dating back before permanent press and now looked as if it had come off a bed that had been slept in.

  “What you waiting for?” Loweva said. “Christmas?”

  “Time to face the music,” she said, “and I’m not talking about Jingle Bells.”

  She took the microphone at the front of the room. Generally she was comfortable speaking to a group of people, especially this crowd, because they were united by a common purpose, a common cause. But tonight she had butterflies in her stomach... and all because of a pair of black eyes that stripped her bare.

  “First of all, I want to thank you for coming.”

  Against her will, her eyes were drawn to Ben Sullivan. He gave her a sardonic smile, and suddenly Holly felt like a hypocrite. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was people who pretended to be one thing when they were an entirely different thing. How could she pretend to be the church hostess if her hospitality excluded people she didn’t like or understand?

  She smiled back at him, a smile of sincere welcome... she hoped. Buoyed by her change of attitude, she continued her speech.

  “As you know, the purpose of this dinner is to raise money for the Snipes family. If you thought you were getting a free meal, think again.”

  There was laughter from the audience as Holly held up the box that had donations printed on all sides in bright red letters.

  “Give generously, please,” she said.

  Somebody in the back of the room Clara yelled, “Real generously. That redheaded angel is liable to come back as the devil if we don’t.”

  Good-natured laughter and kidding followed Holly as she made her circuit of the room, starting on the side opposite Ben Sullivan. She made slow progress because she stopped frequently to chat. One of the joys of her job was being in the company of people she loved, people who loved her in return. In a setting such as the benefit dinner, she often felt as if she were folded in a giant pair of loving arms. It almost made up for the loneliness of her little double bed in her small blue frame house on Robins Street.

  She had her grandmother, of course, and her parrot, but both of them were takers instead of givers. Not that she didn’t love them. She loved them both and was fiercely protective, but her role was mainly that of caretaker.

  It was not the role she had imagined for herself at thirty-three. Long ago she had dreamed of a rambling house with plenty of apple trees for children to climb and lots of space for pets. What would her life be like now if Max hadn’t run off with the Tupperware lady and Bill hadn’t squandered the money they were saving for their wedding and honeymoon on a red Thunderbird convertible that took him to California and never brought him back?

  “No use crying over spilled milk,” her grandmother always said. Most of the time Holly didn’t. But sometimes, especially during holidays, she’d get close to tears for no reason at all... or for reasons she couldn’t bear to think about.

  “Great meal, Holly. But then, they always are.”

  “Thanks, Jonathan.”

  He had brought his entire family, his wife Jean and their four children, all with the smiling blue eyes that made Jonathan so beloved as associate pastor.

  “You know Ben Sullivan, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, not daring to look.

  “I’ve been telling him what a wonderful job you do here at Trinity.”

  “He thinks your halo is real,” Ben said.

  Ben winked when she turned to face him, but it was the wicked gleam in his eyes that almost undid her.

  Holly was struck speechless, but Miss Size Two and the Body quickly filled the gap with inane chatter that he seemed to find fascinating. Why was it that some women were born knowing exactly how to handle men, and some couldn’t find their way around a man if they had a road map marked in red and a six- inch-thick instruction book to boot?

  Suddenly Holly was eight years old and in the school yard during recess watching her schoolmates get chosen one by one until she was left standing alone. By the time somebody finally said, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Holly right over,” she was crying and in no condition to ran.

  She was still in no condition to run, but by George, she could walk—and she had no intention of crying.

  “Holly... wait.”

  A hand closed over her wrist, a hand that was all too familiar, a strong hand with a sprinkling of dark hair on the top and long, blunt-tipped fingers that looked as if they would know exactly what to do to a woman to make her feel good.

  Holly figured that Ben would know what she was thinking the minute their eyes met, but what did that matter? She wasn’t out to impress him, and anyhow he was probably accustomed to having every woman he met lust after him. Let him gloat. She could handle it.

  What she almost couldn’t handle was the confusion she saw in his eyes. A man like Ben Sullivan? Confused? She must be having premature hot flashes. Or maybe she had stayed in the kitchen too long.

  The confusion vanished as fast as it had come, and in its place was the arrogance she knew so well.

  “You forgot to give me the donation box,” he said.

  She wanted to give it to him, all right. Smack upside the head. But with an audience looking on, all she could do was smile and pass the box.

  She itched to see how much he was giving, but he palmed a bill quickly into the box. She wasn’t about to look until she got out of his sight. And she certainly wasn’t about to thank him. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t even have to be passing a charity box for the Snipes family.

  As she left she heard Jonathan thanking Ben and inviting him to Sunday morning services.

  The irony of the situation struck Holly. With one hand the church did everything in its power to help the Snipes family raise money to pay off their debts, and with the other they reached out to welcome the man responsible for their predicament in the first place.

  No wonder Holly had such a hard time walking the straight and narrow. The road to goodness wasn’t straight and narrow at all: it was full of dips and detours and unexpected curves.

  Holly risked a peek into the donation box. On top of the small pile of money was a five-dollar bill. It had cost her more than that to wash Loweva’s car.

  The skunk. Did he think that measly little bit would salve his conscience? Or did he even have one?

  “Ben, we hope to see you Sunday morning,” Jonathan was saying.

  “I’m not a joiner. I don’t believe in institutions, any of them.”

  The sound of Ben’s voice raised goose bumps the size of hen eggs on Holly’s arms. All of a sudden she wanted to throw away the box, throw away responsibility, throw away principle, and simply wallow at his feet listening to his voice.

  And what did that make her?

  She was hot and confused, and her head was breaking out in welts from all that tinsel. She reached up and jerked off her halo.

  When she got home, Holly was going to have to pray extra hard for grace.

  Chapter 4

  “How was church, sir?”

  “I didn’t go to church. I went to a dinner that happened to be at church.”

&nbs
p; Hines closed the book of poetry in his lap and studied Ben over the top of his reading glasses. He hadn’t seen a black mood like this since they had left D.C.

  “Anything wrong, sir?”

  “Nothing a good stiff drink won’t fix.” Ben stalked to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets till he found what he wanted. “You want a drink, Hines?” he called.

  “Just a small one might be nice.”

  “We’ll have these on the front porch.” Ben came through carrying two drinks and a box of crackers.

  “Didn’t they feed you, sir?”

  “I was too mad to eat.”

  Hines sat on the front-porch swing, and Ben straddled a straight-backed chair he dragged from the den.

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Yes, but I don’t plan to spoil the rest of my evening talking about her.”

  Hines hid his grin behind the rim of his glass. They drank in companionable silence. Around them the farm was so quiet, they could almost hear each other breathe.

  “A pleasant change from all the noise of D.C., isn’t it, sir?”

  “What?”

  “I said, it’s nice to be here in this quiet place where a man can hear himself think.”

  “Thinking is overrated, Hines.”

  Ben jumped out of his chair and paced the length of the porch. Leaning against the rail, he peered into the darkness, searching for a glimpse of the much-vaunted Gulf. The evening was so black, there was nothing to see, not even a shadow.

  “I must have been out of my mind,” he muttered.

  “On the contrary, sir. I think the move to Sunday Cove will do us both good. We just have to get used to life in the wilderness, that’s all.”

  It was not the move Ben was thinking about, but he didn’t tell Hines so. He tossed the rest of his drink into the yard, then picked up his chair and stalked back into the house.

  Hines sat on the front-porch swing listening to Ben’s noisy search in the den. He drew his sweater close against the chill and took leisurely sips of his drink. The screen door banged, and Ben burst through like something shot out of a cannon.