The Mission (Clairmont Series Novel Book 2)

by L. J. Wilson

  It felt good and he soaped himself from one end to the other, the lavender masking the pungent scent of lye. He closed his eyes and tipped his neck into the curve of the tub. Squeezing out a washcloth, he flopped it over his whiskery face. The bath water was the most soothing thing to have touched him in ages. His hand slid downward as his mind moved to the last woman he’d taken to bed. He had trouble picturing her face—her name was a total loss. The sex had been decent enough. It was almost a forgotten body part, certainly neglected, as his hand wrapped around a half-hard dick. Sebastian wanted to escape, if only for a few minutes.

  He had himself hard in seconds and was slightly relieved to know that things were still in working order. He’d taken several knees to the groin as the Godfathers of the Night beat him. Slipping toward a familiar place, he worked an erection that now demanded satisfaction. His mind gave up on the last time he’d really touched a woman. They were all too inconsequential. There were certainly no evocative memories attached to anyone. Instead he pictured girly magazines—full breasts and pretty pussies—the common reading material that accompanied the crew on overseas voyages. He couldn’t recall the last real, hot set of tits he’d seen—clothed or otherwise—maybe in one of the bars near Piraeus. Grinding against his hand, Sebastian found himself at a precipice—a moment away from a no-strings explosion of pent up frustration, stress, and boredom. His soapy hand was committed to the task, Sebastian holding his breath. He only wanted to hang on a second longer when a knock interrupted.

  “Brother Sebastian.”

  Like a spike through a tire, the sound of Ezra’s voice deflated his hard-on. “Christ…” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “What?”

  “If you’re all right in there I’m going to get more firewood.”

  “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.” Sebastian supposed that for now he and the brothers knew he wouldn’t bolt. That or it was another indication of Ezra Kane’s naiveté. Hearing the cabin door close, Sebastian sunk down, unfulfilled, into the now cool water.

  Evie was on the path to the cabin. She’d trudged more than halfway, struggling along with an oversized, over-filled picnic basket.

  “Now here’s a treat,” Ezra said, coming toward her. “I didn’t think you’d be to the cabin so early.”

  “I told your mother I’d help her can green beans this afternoon, so I had to make an early lunch delivery.”

  He took the weighty basket from her. “I thought you were working on the Christmas quilt today.”

  “Why do you think I offered to can the green beans?” Evie turned up the palm of her free hand, showing Ezra pin-pricked fingertips.

  He laughed and nodded. “Good point. I suspect I should learn to sew if I’m ever to have anything mended.”

  “Or we could buy new clothing at the mall,” Evie said. The spark in Ezra’s eyes met with hers and he was silent. They’d argued the week before when Evie stopped outside a bridal shop on the main street of North Good Hope. She’d boldly remarked to Ezra how much she admired the fancy store-bought wedding gowns, even suggesting they go inside.

  “Evie—”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t want to quarrel with Ezra. “I don’t know why I said that, or why I got so angry about the wedding dress last week. Sometimes I believe your father’s right—maybe the outside world is more temptation than I could manage.”

  “There’s a first, Evie Neal, openly agreeing with Reverend Kane.”

  “And yet,” she said, “ideas about other places continue to turn up in my dreams.”

  He quickly tucked loose strands of hair, defiant and determined to escape, behind her ear. “Think of it this way, if you were to take such trips—mission trips, of course—there wouldn’t be much temptation in South American shopping. There aren’t any Rodeo Drives in that part of the world.”

  “Rodeo…?”

  “It’s a famous, fancy shopping place in California.” He nodded hard. “I know a few things, Evie Neal.” Ezra looked her up and down. “It’s what makes us such a good match—you being so full of questions. I might have the answers.” She didn’t respond. “What? Go on. Say it—whatever’s on your mind.”

  She shrugged, focused on the dirt surrounding their shoes. “Sometimes I think I’d like to answer my own questions.”

  “Within Good Hope, you’ll have plenty of chance to do that. Anyway… there’s no one in the cabin right now, so you’ll have to bring your basket back later. I’d take it myself,” he said, handing it back to her, “but I’m on my way to get a wheelbarrow of firewood.”

  From where they stood on the path, Evie glanced at the distance she’d already walked. “What if I leave it near the door? You can take it in yourself.”

  He nodded. “There you go. A better answer than mine. That’ll be fine.”

  But Evie furrowed her brow. It was her answer, yet it required his permission.

  “The mission is bathing—praying, from what I heard,” Ezra said. “I thought he’d benefit from time alone with his sorry soul and some cleansing water.”

  Evie tipped up her chin, peering toward the cabin. “Ezra, what… what’s he like?”

  “The Reverend’s mission?”

  She nodded, her wandering mind having wondered about a man that sect members only referred to as the mission.

  He shifted his slim shoulders. “More healed than when he arrived, so I suspect God wants him that way. I don’t know beyond that. My father says we’re not to question him, and I haven’t.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” she said softly. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She fiddled with the lid on the basket. “I just don’t understand your lack of curiosity—that’s all. I don’t know how any of you can sit with him day after day and not want to know—”

  “Evie,” he said, cutting her off. “I believe my father has a point about you.”

  “What point is that?” she said, making firm eye contact.

  “I’d have an easier time breaking a wild mustang than breaking Evie Neal.”

  “Is that what he says?” Evie glanced away, unsure if she liked being compared to a horse.

  “Evie… look at me.”

  She refused to obey.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—and I certainly don’t agree. Thank you for bringing the food.” She didn’t reply or look at him, and Ezra changed the subject by tipping open the basket’s lid. “Hmm, no matter who the mission is, if you keep feeding him like this we’ll have to roll him out of here.” He lifted a tea towel. “Did you bake him an angel food cake? I’m not sure I like that idea.”

  Ezra loved her angel food cake. “I made the cake for you.”

  He looked toward the main thoroughfare of their community. Brushing his fingertips across her cheek, Ezra cupped her chin. The small but intimate gesture was enough to tell Evie that the street behind them was deserted. It also forced her gaze onto his. “Maybe the canning will go quicker than expected. You can tell my mother you’ve gone to help with the Christmas quilt.”

  “But I hate to quilt.”

  “I know,” he said, letting go of her chin. “That’s why you’ll meet me in the barn.”

  She did love Ezra’s adventurous moments. Yet Evie didn’t jump at the chance. “I, um… I can’t. I have a lot to do today.”

  He opened his mouth, hesitating, as if choosing his words. “All right, Evie. As you like.” But Ezra’s broad grin vanished and a faint glimmer of his father laced through his placid face. “It’s not as if you’re my wife yet.”

  Evie set the food on the wooden step of the cabin. Nolan Creek had lived there until the Reverend insisted he build a proper house closer to other sect members. Outsiders rarely visited their community, and the cabin had been empty until the mission arrived. Without explanation, Reverend Kane had directed the women to prepare the threadbare wooden structure. Evie and Hannah had scrubbed the interior while the men supplied sparse furnishings. When they were done, Evie thought the cabin rat
her quaint with its stone fireplace and cozy single room, a feather bed tucked into the far left corner. She’d made up the bed herself and hung new curtains on the windows. But someone had left the curtain open today, and she leaned left, peeking inside. Evie suspected the bed sheets hadn’t been changed since the mission had arrived.

  She did know something about him, a little more than she’d let on to Ezra. The day before the mission came to Good Hope, Evie was in the meeting hall vestibule. She was minding her business, working on a game for the children to help memorize their lengthy doctrine rules. From inside the Reverend’s office, she’d heard him give several brothers instructions. “We’ ll not allow his wicked life to invade ours. You’re to keep this mission sequestered, fed, and sheltered. God will see to his injuries… or not. If it’s the latter, you’re not to interfere.” His words had infuriated Evie, a burning reminder of her mother’s death and the Reverend’s unyielding commitment to Fathers of the Right doctrine.

  Evie peered inside the window again. “Good for the mission…” she thought. No thanks to the Reverend, if the mission was bathing, he must be improving. And if that was the case, he should have clean bedding. One would do as much for a litter of puppies. Evie looked through the open curtain on the right. It offered a view of the living area and bathroom door, which was shut.

  She turned toward the distant cluster of buildings that comprised Good Hope—the direction Ezra had gone. She’d tell him there were clean sheets in the cabin closet. He should change them. Of course, she couldn’t picture Ezra changing bed linens. Besides, he was getting firewood. Surely the mission would want to lie back down before Ezra returned. Evie looked between the cabin door and the path that led back to the main sect. If women weren’t allowed in and men refused to change bed linens, how would their cloistered mission ever get clean sheets? She looked inside again. The bathroom door remained closed. Evie reached, barely turning the rusted metal knob of the cabin door as it opened.

  Once inside, Evie absorbed the result of leaving the brothers to housekeeping. The neat as a pin cabin she and Hannah had prepared was littered with dishes and reading materials, chips of wood from Brother Creek’s carvings. Spent ashes from the fire dotted the floor. It was cold, which Evie suspected wasn’t good for whatever ailment the mission was battling. Evie stoked the fire. In moments she had it burning bright. She peeked through the open firebox—on the opposite side of the hearth were the bed and a woeful tangle of sheets. She’d change them and go before anyone discovered her disobedient choice. In a small closet she located the spare sheets.

  In seconds, Evie was engrossed in her task. She stripped the dank sheets, the smell unfamiliar—something like when the brothers came in from the fields in July. Yet it was different. Earthy, foreign—curious. After tucking the last corner and plumping the pillows, she stood back and admired her effort. At least he’d be comfortable. She almost giggled—perhaps the mission would think the bed fairy had come by while he’d bathed.

  While making the bed, Evie’s gaze repeatedly caught on the odd item in the room—a tall leather bag. It seemed forgotten in the corner. The wondering part of Evie got the best of her, and she found herself crouched beside it. She ran her fingertips over the bag’s heavy straps and hard buckles. Evie couldn’t see the mission. She knew she couldn’t speak to him. So maybe she only wanted to know what he smelled of, other than stale sheets. Impulsively, she unbuckled the straps. It looked as if the contents had been packed in haste, she thought, plucking out a white cotton T-shirt.

  She raised the soft fabric to her nose, breathing in something less pungent than the sheets—a vigorous mix of manly qualities. Closing her eyes, she sniffed it again. The scent drew Evie in, the way fireflies fascinated the eyes. Her brain was instantly engaged, the evocative aromas more intriguing than anything in the air of Good Hope. She couldn’t describe it, vaguely aware of a tingling sensation the scent of the mission’s undershirt induced. Captivated by a simple undergarment, Evie hadn’t noticed any sound—not until it penetrated through her. It was a voice much stronger than the scent.

  “Just a guess, but I’m thinking stealing is definitely frowned upon in this place.”

  Evie’s eyes popped wide and she braced against the wall to steady herself. The mission stood before her wrapped in a white towel. Her jaw unhinged. Smell and sound became secondary to sight. She’d never seen anyone like him. Certainly not a man in such an unclothed state—except, of course, for Ezra. But as Evie dragged her gaze over him, she was having a hard time fitting Ezra into his mold. From her crouched position, she saw wet wavy hair that fell beyond his ears. The color was dark as pitch, darker than Rachel Pruitt’s. His features looked like something a blacksmith would fashion—iron-like planes and a bold nose soldered together by the sturdy angles of his cheekbones. His chest was as broad as Revelations’, though less pristine. It evoked visions of a centaur—an untamed, Greek mythological creature, half man, half horse. Evie had seen such beings in a library book. She’d hid the bold images under a book entitled Lessons on Gratitude, taken from the shelf above. At least a half dozen scars marred the mission’s upper half. Evie’s brain defied the consequences, and her eyes followed the trail of hair that disappeared into the tuck of the towel. She felt her heart beat strangely, loudly, as if it were outside her chest. It alerted other body parts that shouldn’t be considered in his presence.

  “Geez, tell me you don’t speak at all.”

  “What?” she said from her squatted stance. “I…” But as Evie rose, scraping her back along the rough wallboard, she realized how wildly distracting the whole of him was. Surely the first thing she should have noticed was his eyes—a dizzying color: blue-spruce evergreen, the stained glass in the meeting hall, the center of the passion flowers that grew at the edge of Good Hope’s gate. Finally, she absorbed his words. “Of course I can speak.”

  “To me?” he said.

  “I believe there are only two of us here.” But it felt like more of a reminder to herself. She managed to unseal her gaze, all too aware of the precarious circumstance. Being there was wrong. Being there with a nearly naked stranger was unthinkable. She grabbed the leather bag. “Are you looking for this?”

  “Uh, yeah…” He had the audacity to smile. “The, um… the undershirt too.”

  Evie had tucked the garment tight to her chest. They seemed at a standoff. The fire crackled from either side of them. Evie boldly shuffled forward. An unfamiliar awareness wove through her like a fresh breath of life. Evie tried to keep it in context—they were just two people in a room. And it wasn’t as if a lightning bolt would ram between them—at least she hoped not. The mission met her halfway.

  His mesmerizing irises lingered, tangling with hers, and a bob swam through his thick throat. Evie felt her cheeks flush and the whirl of heat intensify. As the mission claimed his belongings, his knuckles grazed her calloused fingertips. She jerked back her hand. Not because of the contact, but because her fingers were less than soft and perfect. Only soft and perfect things should touch him… And that, Evie supposed, was evil whispering directly in her ear. But looking into his eyes, she couldn’t imagine evil feeling like this.

  Disturbingly beautiful. It was the first clear thought to roll through Sebastian’s head in weeks. He knew this because words like that had never rolled through Sebastian’s head—not when faced with the opposite sex. Not when faced by anything. He drew a steadying breath, blaming the crushing imagery on his largely sedentary state and lack of human interaction. But as a few moments passed, the impression didn’t subside.

  It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant feeling—more off balance—achy as his persistent pains. Surprised to find a woman there, Sebastian was more taken aback by her singular presence—a loud mix of innocence and a force to be reckoned with. He tried to brush it off. Maybe it was the fact that she’d so obviously broken the rules. Sebastian took the duffel bag from her and held it in front of the towel. She’d also managed to cause a full-on hard-on. Not eve
n her conservative clothing could stop him from absorbing a figure to which he was instantly drawn. Sebastian shuffled backward. “I should get dressed.”

  “Dressed, yes…” she said, eyes saucer wide.

  She was average height—which still looked small to him—and she wore no makeup. Long, thick hair was trapped in a braid, the braid falling over her shoulder with fringy loose edges framing her face. Her wide eyes were a soft shade of brown, a striking contrast to her blonde hair. He guessed the unkempt state reflected her day, though to him it came across as a tussle of sexiness. Sebastian had never seen a woman offer so much with so little effort. And this made him retreat another step. It was as unlikely as it was absurd. Okay, take this as a reminder of how long it’s been since you’ve seen a woman, never mind taken one to bed… “I’ll, um…” He motioned toward the bathroom.

  “No. I’ll go,” she said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  Aside from Ezra’s man-boy chatter, it was the liveliest conversation he’d had since arriving. Sebastian viewed himself as a solitary creature, but even a semi-friendly face felt good. Or maybe it felt good coming from her. “Do you have to?”

  She glanced cagily toward the paned window. “I… I suppose I could stay a few minutes.”

  Inside the bathroom, Sebastian shuffled into his pants, pulling the sleeveless undershirt over his head while damning the ache in his shoulder. It was the quickest he’d moved since the Godfathers of the Night came at him with fists curled. Returning to the room, he found her focused on chores. Sebastian watched, deciding immediately that while perhaps necessary, he didn’t like seeing her reduced to the role of maid.

  “Stop.”

  The shuffle of a broom halted, and she gripped her small fingers hard around the pole, like maybe she’d use it as weapon if need be. On the other hand, he suspected she could hold her own and that pissing her off would not be to his advantage. “What… what’s your name?”