beeline to the coffee maker and filled an empty mug.
“I’d put them on my grocery list,” the father said, “but Mrs. Ingram wouldn’t buy them. She’s worried about my cholesterol and fat intake. I’d go out and get some for myself, but I don’t do well in these big supermarkets. I don’t have a very good sense of direction, I’m afraid.”
“For letting us use this house, Father, I will gladly keep you supplied with Twinkies,” Lynn said, leaning back against the counter.
“Horizon House is a worthy cause, dear,” he declared, a rare gleam of stubbornness coming into his dark little eyes. “I won’t let anyone tell me different.”
Lynn thought the bishop might have something to say on the subject after he met with Elliot Graham, but she held her tongue. It was too early in the dayto be contentious. There was no point in it anyway. She would only upset Father Bartholomew, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. He was such a sweet, dear man. The only person who’d been willing to step forward and help them—until Erik Gunther.
“I’d better be going,” the priest said, pushing his chair back from the table. He rose and reached for the Twinkies, stuffing three into the pouch on his sleep-wrinkled sweatshirt. “If I don’t get to morning mass before the ladies finish the rosary, I’ll be in the doghouse, I can tell you. I’ll stop by later to see how things are going.”
Lynn bid him good-bye and watched with a sinking heart as he let himself out the back door and scuttled across the yard, headed for the rectory. Their chaperon was gone. Almost instantly the level of sexual tension thickened in the air like a sudden fog.
“How’s the headache?” Erik asked.
“Gone thanks,” she murmured, burying her nose in the steam from her coffee cup.
It wasn’t quite the truth. There was still a kernel of pain lodged above her right eye like a glowing ember waiting for fuel so it could burst into flame again. It might stay there for days, haunting her with the possibility of another full-fledged migraine,but she had no desire to share that information with Erik.
She could feel that incredibly magnetic blue gaze on her, searching, assessing. She just barely resisted the urge to check her hair. This was not good. She didn’t have time to be worrying about her appearance, wondering if he would think she was a slob because he’d only ever seen her in holey jeans and college T-shirts. That was her usual uniform, because it was comfortable and unthreatening to her girls. What did she care if Senator Gunther thought she was underdressed?
“The coffee is decaf,” he said. “People who suffer from migraines should avoid caffeine. I was just reading up on it this morning in
Newsweek.”
Lynn wrinkled her nose at the coffee and his concern. She didn’t want him reading up on migraines or making her special coffee, even if it did seem like an awfully sweet thing for him to do. The kiss had been a mistake, a moment of weakness. Now, in the bright light of day, she could see it for what it was: sheer foolishness. She couldn’t have a relationship with Erik Gunther. There was no point in pursuing something that could only end in disappointment.
“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing magnanimously toward the chair to his right.
She gave the chair a suspicious look, wrapped herhands around her coffee mug, and held it against her chest. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
A muscle in Erik’s jaw tightened. “You know,” he said with a bright, square smile, “I think I’ll stand too. I like standing. I don’t get to do enough standing in my day-to-day life.”
He pushed his chair back from the table and rose, Twinkie in hand. He kept his gaze on Lynn, letting her know he wouldn’t be so easily daunted. She was trying to put distance between them, physically and emotionally, trying to ease the effect of the kiss they had shared. He had no intention of letting her get away with it. He was a grown
“I’d put them on my grocery list,” the father said, “but Mrs. Ingram wouldn’t buy them. She’s worried about my cholesterol and fat intake. I’d go out and get some for myself, but I don’t do well in these big supermarkets. I don’t have a very good sense of direction, I’m afraid.”
“For letting us use this house, Father, I will gladly keep you supplied with Twinkies,” Lynn said, leaning back against the counter.
“Horizon House is a worthy cause, dear,” he declared, a rare gleam of stubbornness coming into his dark little eyes. “I won’t let anyone tell me different.”
Lynn thought the bishop might have something to say on the subject after he met with Elliot Graham, but she held her tongue. It was too early in the dayto be contentious. There was no point in it anyway. She would only upset Father Bartholomew, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. He was such a sweet, dear man. The only person who’d been willing to step forward and help them—until Erik Gunther.
“I’d better be going,” the priest said, pushing his chair back from the table. He rose and reached for the Twinkies, stuffing three into the pouch on his sleep-wrinkled sweatshirt. “If I don’t get to morning mass before the ladies finish the rosary, I’ll be in the doghouse, I can tell you. I’ll stop by later to see how things are going.”
Lynn bid him good-bye and watched with a sinking heart as he let himself out the back door and scuttled across the yard, headed for the rectory. Their chaperon was gone. Almost instantly the level of sexual tension thickened in the air like a sudden fog.
“How’s the headache?” Erik asked.
“Gone thanks,” she murmured, burying her nose in the steam from her coffee cup.
It wasn’t quite the truth. There was still a kernel of pain lodged above her right eye like a glowing ember waiting for fuel so it could burst into flame again. It might stay there for days, haunting her with the possibility of another full-fledged migraine,but she had no desire to share that information with Erik.
She could feel that incredibly magnetic blue gaze on her, searching, assessing. She just barely resisted the urge to check her hair. This was not good. She didn’t have time to be worrying about her appearance, wondering if he would think she was a slob because he’d only ever seen her in holey jeans and college T-shirts. That was her usual uniform, because it was comfortable and unthreatening to her girls. What did she care if Senator Gunther thought she was underdressed?
“The coffee is decaf,” he said. “People who suffer from migraines should avoid caffeine. I was just reading up on it this morning in
Newsweek.”
Lynn wrinkled her nose at the coffee and his concern. She didn’t want him reading up on migraines or making her special coffee, even if it did seem like an awfully sweet thing for him to do. The kiss had been a mistake, a moment of weakness. Now, in the bright light of day, she could see it for what it was: sheer foolishness. She couldn’t have a relationship with Erik Gunther. There was no point in pursuing something that could only end in disappointment.
“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing magnanimously toward the chair to his right.
She gave the chair a suspicious look, wrapped herhands around her coffee mug, and held it against her chest. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
A muscle in Erik’s jaw tightened. “You know,” he said with a bright, square smile, “I think I’ll stand too. I like standing. I don’t get to do enough standing in my day-to-day life.”
He pushed his chair back from the table and rose, Twinkie in hand. He kept his gaze on Lynn, letting her know he wouldn’t be so easily daunted. She was trying to put distance between them, physically and emotionally, trying to ease the effect of the kiss they had shared. He had no intention of letting her get away with it. He was a grown
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