He's Her (The Vicarage Bench Series)

by Mimi Barbour

  He’s Her

  Book Two

  of

  The Vicarage Bench Series

  by

  Mimi Barbour

  Praise for He’s Her

  HE’S HER

  “I found the story line original and I love the focus on the distance that the characters travel—even some of the secondary ones. It’s tightly written with a crisp turn of phrase...quirky and sparky, and Ms. Barbour gets the mix right. And the end—well, it just made me want to go ‘Aaaaahhhhh...sweet!’ A great little story. Recommended.” (Rating: Fantastic, Stays on Shelf) ~Vasiliki Scurfield, WRDF Reviews

  “He’s Her is a fun read with a few twists and turns that make the characters endearing and even the gruff ‘Rhett’ worms his way into the reader’s heart. I was invested in these characters and couldn’t wait to see the end! I look forward to reading the other stories in the Vicarage Bench Series --do yourself a favour and pick up this fun, quick read.

  Reviewed by ~ Agapanthus, Long and Short Reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2013 by Mimi Barbour

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Edited by Nan Swanson

  Cover Art by Viola Estrella

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  (Next book in the Vicarage Bench Series)

  We’re One

  Chapter One

  Dedication

  Review

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Angels with Attitudes Series

  Contact Page

  Prologue

  2007

  “If we do this, there’ll be no turning back. Sweetheart, are you sure it’s what you want?” His frail voice wavered.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I want to keep you with me—always. Please, please understand. You must.” The grey-haired woman, faded beauty in her weary face, leaned her slender form towards the pale travesty of a once vibrant man. The washed-out blue pyjamas he wore were typical hospital couture; not so was the luxurious navy velour robe that hung on his withered frame. In contrast, dressed in her stylish turquoise dress, the woman had a youthful heartiness and an innate vitality despite the tired lines around her eyes.

  Her companion sighed, slapped his hands on his knees and nodded. “Right! We’ll leave as soon as we can make the arrangements. Each day my strength fails a little more. I don’t want to be a burden longer than necessary, and the doctors did warn us that the end would come quickly.”

  “Darling, I’ve asked your brother to come, and he’s willing and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He’ll be a strong arm to cling to, through everything.”

  “Yes, it’s a good idea.” He leaned to tenderly caress the beloved face of the woman he’d adored for forty-seven wonderful years. “You’re still so beautiful, my wild rose.”

  “And you’re still a silver-tongued devil.” She kissed him softly, lingeringly.

  “Sweetheart, I must tell you. I feel a sense of relief in making this decision.”

  “You do? I’m glad.” She gently patted his dear face.

  He nodded, gazing into her eyes, his own full to the brim with tears. “It’s because I know now that I won’t be leaving you, after all.”

  Chapter One

  1967

  The tall, slim, well-endowed broad was strolling directly towards him. Damn! He didn’t want to share this bench with anyone else, even a classy chick like her. The last few hectic days had taken their toll. He needed to catch his breath and unwind. Alone!

  She smiled and nodded to acknowledge him and continued to head toward the back of his bench, where a luxurious, fragrant bush full of wild roses spread its splendour. Rhett watched her slide tiny garden clippers from her shoulder bag. He supposed she was pilfering roses, and he wished she’d get on with it and leave him to his peaceful sanctuary. He heard a snipping sound, followed immediately by a whimper and a sucking noise as she babied what must be a wound. Feeling peevish, he ignored her.

  This pretty spot, just in front of the timeworn vicarage and near a busy country lane, had become Rhett’s safe haven over the last few days as he organized and attended his father’s lonely funeral. The vicar, himself and his old man had been the only guests at the service. His father had wished to be buried in England, in the church cemetery near the vicarage close to where he’d grown up. Rhett decided to honour this last request, though why he felt it necessary was beyond him. The old guy had paid scant attention to his family, including Rhett, his oldest son. While Rhett was a boy, the old man ignored him. As the boy grew to be a man he reciprocated, and so they never had a close relationship.

  Being an actor, making love to his leading ladies, and seeing his name in lights was all the fool cared about. Other than the ridiculous name bestowed on him, Rhett Parks inherited little else from the man who’d demanded to be called Father—never Dad.

  “I’m sorry. I seem to have pricked myself. I feel slightly faint.” The intrusive woman stumbled toward the seat beside him and slumped onto it, letting her purse drop to the ground. Her rose, the instigator of the disruption, landed at his feet.

  Without hesitation, he bent and picked up the stem, feeling a sharp prick in his thumb as he did so. His annoyance doubled. Silly woman was the last thought he had for some time.

  “Mr. Parks? Sir? Oh, my goodness! Whatever has happened?” The vicar rushed over and tried to hold up the body of the collapsing man, an impossible task. The dead weight rolled over and landed in a heap on the grass beside the wooden bench. The clergyman turned to the white-faced woman, whose open eyes were fixed and empty. “Miss Temple? Miss Temple? Are you all right?” The vicar reached over and nudged Carrie’s shoulder.

  “Ohhh!” Her head wobbled on her neck as she stirred.

  A crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk, and the perplexed vicar, in need of assistance, gestured to several of the men to come over to the bench.

  “What’s up, Vicar? What’s wrong with the bloke? Is Carrie all right?”

  “Shush! Call an ambulance. Mr. Parks has collapsed. Miss Temple is coming around, but she’s ill, also. I don’t know what happened. I’d decided to take my afternoon stroll, as it were, when I came across these two sitting on the bench together. I couldn’t pass them by without saying hello, but before I had a chance to speak, Mr. Parks stiffened and moaned and started to fall over. I tried to catch him, but I couldn’t hold him. He’s a large man.” The vicar rambled on, his voice squeaking with nervous strain.

  “Ooohhh! Vicar! What’s happened? I feel strange.”

  “Yes, Miss Temple, I can see that.” The vicar, pulled in two directions at once, dithered back and forth between the body of the man sprawled on the ground and the trauma
tized woman whom he’d known since she was a child. He ultimately settled on Carrie and sat on the bench beside the ashen girl. “You’re extremely pale, my dear, and you’re trembling.” He clutched her shaking hand and patted it consolingly. “I think you’re unwell, but don’t upset yourself, there’s an ambulance coming. Mr. Parks has passed out, and we need to get him help.”

  A young man from the crowd bent over the fallen man and used his fingers to check the pulse in Rhett’s neck. He nodded to the vicar, whose expression lightened.

  “I have not passed out. I’m right here. I’m... What the hell is going on? How can I be here and my body be lying over there? Where am I?” He looked down and saw a blue dress draped over the skinny knees in front of him. The hands he held up were slender, with long fingers and beautifully manicured nails. A small pinkie ring adorned one hand and flickered with the smallest diamond he’d ever seen.

  “What in blazes is going on?” He could have sworn he’d bellowed out the words but the sound he made was weak and feminine and whined more than it roared. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Not at all a joke, Miss Temple. Not for poor Mr. Parks, it isn’t. The man’s out cold and hasn’t moved a muscle since we found him.” The vicar was elderly and clearly disturbed. “Mr. Parks buried his father this morning, and I’m wondering if he isn’t suffering a form of grieving trauma. I thought him a cold, uncaring man at the graveside, but this teaches me a lesson. People suffer in many different ways.”

  The approaching ambulance’s siren made talking difficult as it screeched to a stop in front of the bench. Two conscientious attendants bundled the fallen man onto a stretcher and carried him to the back of the ambulance. The vicar pranced alongside, providing the driver with the facts of the peculiar incident, embellishing them somewhat.

  “Vicar, would it be possible for you to come with us to the hospital so you can describe to the doctors exactly what happened? Miss Carrie might appreciate your support, also.” The paramedic appealed to the vicar’s sense of responsibility toward one of his flock.

  “Of course, my boy. I don’t know as how my slight knowledge of the incident will be of much use. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. The man just keeled over.” The prattle continued as he disappeared into the front of the waiting vehicle. Being the centre of attention, a favoured role for the vicar, made his day.

  By the time the paramedics turned to a befuddled and nauseous Carrie, her fear of hospitals had kicked in. She tried refusing to go along but was compelled to stop arguing. A strong force from within had taken control of her senses, and in no time she found herself next to the talkative vicar in the front of the ambulance. His loud tone trying to override the screeching vehicle wasn’t helping her looming migraine.

  “Doesn’t the old geezer ever shut up?” a cynical voice inside her head stated clearly. She shut her eyes and willed herself not to think in such a manner. It wasn’t very Christian-like.

  Soon she was sitting in the nondescript Emergency Area, waiting to see the doctor. She was aware of a strange, unwanted presence raging inside her. She tried restraining the force, but her power was like a leaf in a tornado. Speech resonated, echoing in her head. To cover it up, she started carrying on a conversation with herself—babbling. “I’ve lost it. I’ve finally cracked. I knew it would happen sooner or later, what with all the pressure I’ve been under recently. Now it’s happened. I’m bonkers, a raving lunatic. I suppose I’ll be dribbling next, smashing my head into the wall and playing with my hair, drooling...”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop it. Your chatter is driving me crazy.”

  “Hold it! I’m thinking. I’m not talking out loud. You have no right to shush me in my own bloody head. Oh, God. I am mad.” Both hands slapped over her mouth as if to stop it from moving, except it hadn’t...

  “If you are, then I am, too. Trust me, we aren’t crazy. I don’t know what occurred earlier, but the term ‘weirdly bizarre’ comes to mind. I seem to be lodged in your body, while mine is out cold.”

  “Well I don’t like it. Get out!”

  “Sure thing, no problem. Just tell me how?”

  “I’m insane. I might as well sign myself into the asylum. It’s from those monsters at school. I knew they’d do me in.”

  “You aren’t insane—a bit silly maybe, but not crazy. So stop thinking it. We have to put our heads together and figure a way out of this mess you got us into.”

  “Our heads are together, you idiot, and I’ll think any bleedin’ way I want to. Heavens, listen to me. See what you’ve done—I’ve never talked to anyone like that before in my life. You’ve gone and made me dreadfully testy.”

  “You’re testy? I’m fu...”

  “Don’t you even think that in my head. There’ll be no swearing, or I’ll shut you off somehow. Do you understand me?”

  “Fine, sorry. Think about it, though. I’m stuck in here with you, but my body is in trouble, and I have no idea what to do or how to get back into it. Maybe we’re both mad.”

  “I don’t see how I can help you. Imagine me trying to explain to anyone that you’ve left your collapsed body and decided to roommate in mine.” She chortled, sounding like a witch. A woman sitting next to her, moved. “Crikey, I’ll be locked up, for sure.”

  It was amazing how clearly defined his remarks were from her own. Having a conversation with another person inside her mind swiftly became as comfortable as talking on a phone to a voice heard from inside a receiver.

  “There must be a specialist we can talk to. Someone who could help us! You have to try.”

  “Me? Why me? I’m not the one who’s vacated a perfectly good body. You talk to someone. You try to explain your predicament. I’m out of it.” Her innate tendency to stay away from the spotlight triggered her resistance.

  “Wait a minute, don’t do that. Don’t shut down. I need you to help me explain.”

  “I can’t explain what I don’t understand. For heaven’s sake, I did nothing.” Snivels and sniffs burst forth as her lips quivered and her control wavered.

  “Stop it! Don’t you dare cry! I can’t stand blubbering women.”

  “I’m not crying. I’m scared. I don’t understand what’s happened to us.”

  “I know. I can’t figure it out, either. Neither of us did anything to instigate this mess. Let me think on it for a while, before we draw any attention to ourselves.”

  “Right! I don’t want to be locked up in a padded cell. Especially if you insist on tagging along.” Her backbone stiffened. The posture, and all it represented, gave her courage.

  “Like I have a choice?” His droll sarcasm broke through her reserve. Her face crumpled and a small grin appeared.

  “Miss Temple,” called the vicar, bustling towards her. “The doctor would like to see you now.”

  She shot to her feet. “About Mr. Parks? How is he doing?” God, she hoped he’d started to come around, so she could say goodbye to her inner guest.

  The vicar patted her clenched hands. “They’re examining him now, but it seems to be a quandary all around. So far, they can’t find any reasons for him to be in this state. Can you come this way, and I’ll take you to the doctor’s office. They have a few questions for you, as well. I’m sorry I must leave you here alone, Carrie. I have evening services at the church.”

  “Of course, Vicar. I’m thankful you came along when you did. You’ve been a wonderful help.” She walked slowly at his side, feeling surprisingly weighted down.

  “Busybody, you mean.”

  “Wonderful help. I’m so grateful.” She reiterated in an argumentative voice.

  “I did hear you the first time, my dear. I was pleased to be of assistance. If you should have need of me in the days ahead, you’re welcome to call at the church or the vicarage.”

  Taking his proffered hand, she squeezed it gently as she shook it. Since he was leaving, she wanted him to be aware of her sincerity and her gratitude. He was a dapper little man, fussy, talkative, b
ut also extremely caring, and he’d always been kind to her and her grandmother. She waved to him as he turned back, hesitation registering in his face. He moved on.

  “Humph! Old fool!”

  “Stop that. He’s a sweet old man, and he did try to help us.”

  “For all we know, he’s the one who put a hex on us and left us in this condition.”

  “Don’t be daft. Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Why has this happened? Nothing adds up. Look, let me do the talking when the doctor arrives.”

  “Only if you make sense and keep calm. Remember, it’s my mouth the words will be coming out of and me who’ll wear the disgrace if you lose your temper.”

  “I never lose my temper. I’m a rational, controlled man.”

  “We’ll see.” She waited by the open door of the office the vicar had indicated.

  A distinguished older man with short white hair and bushy eyebrows approached. His white coat flapped open with every step as he rushed toward her. “I wondered if it was you, Carrie, when I saw the name on the accident report. How’s your grandfather? Has he been following my instructions and taking his medication?”

  She grinned, raised her eyebrows and twisted her head to one side. She didn’t need to say a word.

  The doctor grimaced, shook his head, and then gestured her into the small office. He waved at her to take the chair while he perched on the edge of his messy, paper-laden desk.

  “I understand you were with Mr. Parks this afternoon when he collapsed?”

  It was time for the switch, and Carrie figuratively stepped back and let Rhett use her voice.

  “Yes, doctor. We didn’t know each other. In fact, I’d never seen this woman before in my life. I...”

  “Excuse me? Did you say ‘woman’?” the doctor interrupted. Carrie’s voice had lowered and become unexpectedly harsh, a change that tweaked the doctor’s interest. His eyes were now riveted to Carrie’s face.