Copper Lake Encounter. Marilyn PappanoЧитать онлайн книгу.
in the center of the yard, looking off in the direction from which he’d just come.
Roland gave a low whistle. “She got some curves on her.”
“She don’t look bad in that pink dress, neither,” David agreed.
Since he couldn’t remember the last time a girl had caught their attention so thoroughly, Ty turned to see whom they were talking about. He totally got the sense of wonder in their voices as he watched Nev Wilson make her way carefully across the parking lot. In her snug-fitting dress and ridiculously high heels, she should have looked at least a bit comical, taking small, cautious steps to avoid twisting an ankle on a loose piece of gravel, but she didn’t. She looked graceful and womanly and...damn, was it a sin to think sexy in the churchyard?
“Wonder who she is,” Roland said.
“And why we ain’t seen her here before,” David added.
“She’s a friend of mine.”
Both boys startled at the sound of his voice. They’d been concentrating so fully on Nev that they hadn’t even noticed him. He took each by a shoulder and turned them toward the door. “Go on, now. Get inside or you’ll miss Miz Rutledge warming up on the organ.”
With groans and rolls of their eyes, both boys headed to the door. Ty waited a moment and then stepped from the oak’s shade and walked to the edge of the grass. “Nevaeh.” He liked the way her name rolled off in three easy-flowing syllables. “You look like a little bit of heaven right here on earth.”
Even more startled than the boys had been, she blinked at the sight of him. “Detective Gadney.”
“Please call me Ty.”
“Please call me Nev.”
“Of all the churches in all of Copper Lake... Are you stalking me?”
“Absolutely. Your almost running me down on the sidewalk yesterday—I planned that. Your buying me coffee and cookies was part of the plot, too.”
He laughed and then, as she reached the parched grass, offered his arm. He’d escorted plenty of women in heels across the lawn on Sundays—most of them old enough to be his mother or his grandmother—but this was the first time he didn’t wonder why the church hadn’t built a sidewalk to the parking lot years ago. He was grateful they hadn’t, in fact.
“Do you always go to church when you’re on vacation?”
She shrugged, and he felt the movement where her fingers rested on his forearm. Today would have been a good day to wear a short-sleeved shirt. Then he could have really felt her touch, could have seen whether her skin was soft or callused, cool or warm or clammy in the muggy air. But damn his ego, he didn’t like the look of short sleeves with a tie, and since the tie wasn’t optional...
“I don’t actually go on vacation very often,” she replied. “I mean, I take time off, but our family trips are usually to visit other family who live in Georgia. And that’s not a vacation at all, not when it comes to church. Heavens, I spent half my summers growing up attending Aunt Lavinia’s little church in Jonesboro or Aunt Opal’s in Three Rivers.”
“Old habits are hard to break. I’m glad.” When they reached the sidewalk that extended from the double doors out to the street—and not to the parking lot on each side—he kept his hand on hers to keep her from pulling away. The momentary tightening, and then easing, of her strong fingers suggested that had been her plan. “How did you choose this one?”
She gazed at the wooden doors as if she could see inside. “I drove around town yesterday after we met, just to get a feel for the place. I think it chose me. It spoke to me.” Her gaze darted his way, a bit of embarrassment in it.
No need. The old church spoke to a lot of people. There were plenty of bigger, newer, fancier churches in Copper Lake—plenty that relied on central air instead of big windows and ceiling fans. Paper or bamboo fans had never gone out of style here. Most of the families who attended services here were following generations of family tradition. Gadneys had sat in these pews for a hundred and fifty years. It was home to them.
The strains of the old organ swelled through the open windows as Miz Rutledge began warming up her arthritic fingers. Despite Roland’s and David’s groans, she was a talented musician. She just had a tendency to do everything with great flourishes.
Ty opened the door and then followed Nev into the vestibule. There he had no choice but to let go of her. If he escorted her into the sanctuary, every soul inside would think, first, that he’d been holding out on them and, second, that a marriage was in the planning.
And all of them who knew Kiki would be thanking God, silently or out loud. A few of them might even give in to the urge to dance in the aisle in response to the miracle.
Ty would have led the way to the pew near the front that he usually shared with Granddad, but Nev was quick to slide into the empty last row. He followed her, thinking with a grin that if she figured sitting in the back row would stop Brother Luther from acknowledging her, she was in for a surprise. The church didn’t get many out-of-town visitors, and they never got any wearing hot-pink dresses and shoes with four-inch heels and sexy little bows just above where the toes peeked out.
They didn’t even get a chance to sit down before Brother Luther, wearing his usual robe and already wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, stepped to the pulpit and invited everyone to stand for prayer. Some rose easily, others struggled with help from their neighbors. Mothers admonished their children to bow their heads, close their eyes. Beside Ty, Nev did both with the comfortable ease of familiar routine. He lowered his head but didn’t close his eyes. Too many years of being a cop made that part difficult.
After a rousing prayer, everyone sat again. Nev settled on the moss-green cushion that ran the length of the pew and crossed her legs. Cousin Roland had been right: she had some curves on her, and Ty had the best vantage point in the house to notice. If the reverend’s sermon wasn’t all hellfire and brimstone today, he was going to be at risk of behaving inappropriately in the Lord’s house, and he did not want that.
“Before we get started on the prayer requests—” Luther’s voice boomed from the pulpit “—Brother Tyler, would you like to introduce your guest today?”
Ty grinned as the moment Nev equated Tyler with him became evident on her face. He stood—another of those matters of respect Granddad had taught him—and offered his hand to her. “This is Nev Wilson.”
“Ned? Did he say Ned?” Miss Mattie sat four rows up, hard of hearing but refusing to give up the pew she’d spent seventy-four years in to hear better. “She don’t look like no Ned to me.”
“Nev, Miss Mattie,” he said louder. “Nevaeh.”
“Oh, Nev. Like the first half of your cousin Vaeh.” Miss Mattie nodded her gray head. “Heaven spelled backward.”
“Welcome, Sister Nevaeh.” A number of voices echoed the reverend’s, and then he gave the nod that allowed them to sit again.
Ty leaned near her as they did and murmured with a grin. “Welcome, Nevaeh.”
* * *
Sunday school and sermons were fine, and prayers, of course; Nev prayed every single day. But her favorite part of church was always the singing. She’d been blessed with a voice, and the looks she’d received from virtually everyone in the church soon after the song service started showed they agreed. She was flushed with pleasure as the strains of the last hymn faded away, followed by the final prayer, and the slow exile started.
“Lovely voice, girl,” Miss Mattie said in the booming voice she used to compensate for her hearing loss. “You sing like an angel.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Like an angel,” another woman agreed, bobbing her head. “Pure and sweet.”
“And soulful.” That came from the elderly man behind them.