Bayou Judgment by Robin Caroll Page A

very odd. Maybe because of the tension between them? She should pull up her big-girl pants and bite the bullet. Let him know it was okay for him to not want to pursue a relationship with her.
    â€œSpence, I don—”
    â€œFelicia, will you go to the ball with me?”
    Her unspoken words turned foreign on her tongue. Her jaw dropped. Mercy, had he just asked her to be his date? Hope fluttered in her chest.
    Uncertainty danced in his beautiful eyes. “I know I’ve been giving you mixed signals. I’m sorry. I spent a lot of time in prayer last night and today and I’d rea—”
    â€œYes.” Her heart hammered her ribs. So the Holy Spirit had grappled with Spence too. How ironic. No, how God.
    He blinked. “What?”
    â€œYes, I’ll go to the ball with you.”
    â€œI’m glad.” His smile brightened the entire center.
    â€œFelicia, there’s something I need to te—”
    Sheriff Theriot’s grand entrance interrupted Spence. The creaking of his service belt marked the lawman’s quick stride, and his eyes were narrowed behind the lenses of his glasses. Something had clearly unsettled the man. “Pastor Bertrand, I need to have a word with you.”
    â€œIs there a problem, Sheriff?”
    Felicia stood, putting every inch into her height. Had they found Jolie’s killer? Had they found a link to the center and come to close it down?
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell us about your past?” The sheriff rested his hands on his holsters.
    Spence’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes darted about the center. Every operator bolted into some activity, as if they weren’t listening. For once, the phones sat silent.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me you’d been in prison for assault?”

    Spencer kept his gaze on Felicia’s face, which had turned a most interesting shade of ashen. Her eyes widened and a range of raw emotion shimmered in their Caribbean-blue depths.
    Pain. Disappointment. Betrayal.
    Spencer’s heart plummeted. His worst fear had been realized.
    â€œPastor?” The sheriff drummed his fingers against his leather holster.
    â€œWhy don’t we go into my office?”
    â€œWh-why, indeed?” Felicia stammered. Big tears found their way down her cheeks. “Don’t let me stop you.” She snatched up her cane, drew her purse strap over her shoulder and slammed the chair under the desk. “I believe I’m taking the night off, Pastor. ”
    â€œFelicia, wait.” He grabbed a gentle hold on her arm.
    She jerked herself free of his grasp, piercing him with a glare of pure ice. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Pain shot through his veins from her cold response. “I think you have an important conversation waiting on you.”
    Without another word, she stalked to the door.
    Look back, please look back.
    But she didn’t. Not even a glance over her shoulder as she stormed from the center.
    A good amount of self-loathing joined the dose Felicia had already given him. He ached to run after her.
    â€œPastor?”
    Alas, he’d have to find her later and try to defend his past. For now, he’d have to explain to the sheriff. Then the operators. And he’d have to call the church elders and tell them. More than likely, his congregation would call for his replacement.
    He could almost hear the rumble as his carefully constructed life crashed down on his shoulders.
    He was helpless to stop the destruction.

    What a cooyon she was!
    How could he? Encouraging her to forgive the person who murdered Frank, to give men in prison the benefit of the doubt—yeah, she understood perfectly now. Setting her up.
    Fat tears marred Felicia’s vision as she punched in the speed-dial number for her driver. Just when she’d made strides to reconsider her animosity toward criminals, now she found out the one man who’d hit her soft part was one. And for a violent