Barbara Freethy - Some Kind Of Wonderful by Some Kind Of Wonderful

she'd
quit drinking, and she hadn't had a drop since. But
now she really wanted a drink, wanted it so bad she could almost taste
it.

No! Taking a deep breath. Sarah reminded herself to think clearly,
think about Emily. But she was scared. It was getting late, and the
people on the streets could be dangerous. She wondered about a shelter.
Maybe if she could sleep, she could decide what to do next. But where
was a shelter? She had
no idea.

She walked and walked and walked, losing track of the streets, not even
sure where she was going until she saw the steeple of the church. It
was the sign that had called to her the night before. As a child she'd
seen that steeple out of their fourth-floor apartment, just two blocks
away. Every Sunday she'd heard
the bells ring and the angels sing, and
they'd given her hope. But last night, while sleeping in the church,
she hadn't felt any hope, nor had she seen any angels, so why had she
come back again?

They'd probably reported the broken window. It wouldn't be easy to get
back inside. Everything would
be locked up tight. Still, Sarah lingered
on the corner, wondering why she couldn't seem to move away. An old
woman came around the corner at the far end of the church wealing a
large straw hat on her
head despite the rising moon and darkening
twilight. She held a watering can in one hand, but instead of walking
toward the strip of flowers
that graced the walkway, she came toward the sidewalk, dousing the
weeds that grew along the curb with water.

Sarah watched her in fascination. There was something about the woman
that seemed familiar, and a memory tugged in the back of her mind. She
found herself moving forward, but the woman walked
away from her,
crossing the street to the other side, muttering something to herself
as she went.

Sarah shivered as a cool evening breeze seemed to blow through her. She
turned to leave and saw him standing there, watching her.

Startled, she wondered for a split second if Gary had come after her.
Then she realized the face belonged to the man she had met in the
church earlier, a man with blue-gray eyes that reminded her of the sky
just after sunset.

"Hello, Sarah," the man said quietly. "I was hoping you'd come back."

"I—I didn't."

"And yet you're here."

Sarah silently kicked herself for being so dumb. Why couldn't she think
of the right thing to say at the right time?

"You remember me, don't you'" he continued. "I'm Jonathan Mitchell, the
minister here.'"

"You don't look like a reverend," she said, taking note of his casual
gray slacks and dark sweater. In
fact, not only did he not dress like a
man of the cloth, his features were too pretty, with his wavy
brown
hair and long, thick eyelashes that any woman would have killed for.

"What's a minister supposed to look like?"

"Old."

He smiled. "I'll get there one of these days, probably sooner than I"d
like. Are you hungry, Sarah?"

"How do you know my name?"

"You told me earlier."

And he remembered? Gary hadn't remembered her name the first few times
she'd slept with him.

"You made quite an impression," he told her.

"Did you call the cops?"

"No"

She stared at him uncertainly. She wanted to believe him, but he had to
be lying. She'd broken into the church, caused damage. Why wouldn't he
call the cops? "I have to go," she said abruptly.

"Don't."

"But—"

"My housekeeper makes a wonderful beef stew. There's more than I can
cat. I hate to see anything
go to waste."

She wondered if he was referring to her. Because there was an
expression on his face, a worry in his eyes, and it scaied her to think
that she wanted to trust him. No one worried about her. He must have
an
ulterior motive. Most people did.

"Do you get points for how many homeless people you get off the street
each night?" she asked brashly,
a tiny spark of her old street courage
coming back to her.

"Are you homeless?"

"No. I live in one of those mansions up on the hill."

"Then I guess I'll have to look elsewhere for my points,"