Page 12 of Playing With Fire

“Had to drop off Mom first. The parking lot was packed. Did I miss much?”

His warm breath on her neck sent all sorts of signals through her body. None of them felt right in church. She shook her head primly.

“The collection’s still to come, in case you were wondering.”

Ricky snorted with laughter, setting off a cascade of giggles from the teenagers in the pew in front.

Jodi threw them a quelling glance. She hadn’t grown up in the manse without learning a thing or two.

The familiar words swarm on the page as Jodi stumbled through the new musical setting. Half the congregation was still using the traditional tune while the other half gamely attempted to follow the organ.

It didn’t help that her attention kept wandering to the tall, lanky figure at her side. His freshly shaved skin was pink with cold, and her fingers itched to tuck down his shirt collar, the corners of which were sticking up like gopher ears in a vegetable patch.

Fortunately, Ricky’s eyes were half-closed. He seemed oblivious to Jodi’s sneaky glances and twitching fingers, and to the bustle of children off to Sunday School and the parade of congregation members delivering notices, readings, and prayers.

Hattie’s husband, Rev. Silas, stepped up to preach. Silas was a blond giant who looked more suited to playing quarterback than the former investment banker he had once been or the jeans-wearing preacher he was today.

It was a good sermon, delivered in Silas’ well-modulated, warm voice.

Babies gurgled and cried, people coughed and whispered, and someone snored gently. A snatch of Elvis warning people not to step on his blue suede shoes blared out briefly and was cut off as soon as the guilty cellphone was located.

Situation normal.

Jodi wriggled, as restless as the teenagers in front who were sneaking glances at their social media. She couldn’t tell if Ricky was praying, meditating, or napping.

The sermon finished and the music group dived straight into a catchy Hillsong number. Ricky jerked upright, suddenly alert, watchful. His eyes flicked sideways, and his hands were fisted in his lap. Seconds later his shoulders relaxed.

He threw Jodi a bashful smile as they rose to their feet and he joined in the chorus with a pleasant though untrained tenor.

“Lottie’s boy,” whispered Ida loudly at Jodi’s shoulder. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

Jodi pretended not to hear.

Ida wasn’t finished. “Can’t blame him for being a bit nervy. He’s a firefighter, you know.” Her eyes lit up. “Do you think he’s been in one of those calendars? He’d be perfect. I love those puppies, don’t you?” She looked regretful. “It’s probably too cold to be taking off his shirt at the moment though.”

At Jodi’s side, Ricky gave a muffled snort. Jodi felt her own self-control begin to crack.

“Quiet!” she hissed sideways.

The offender quickly rearranged his features into something approaching piety. But Jodi could almost feel his shoulders shaking with mirth.

She pressed her lips tightly together and stared ahead. Laughing like a maniac in church was exactly the kind of publicity the Acting Editor didn’t need.

Mercifully, the service was winding to a close. A few minutes later Jodi followed close behind as Ricky joined the crowded aisle, nodding and smiling as people recognized him.

It was impossible not to notice his neat backside in the crisp straight-leg jeans, or the shaggy dark locks above the collar of an expensive-looking linen shirt and chocolate leather bomber jacket.

Jodi stared at the faint line on the back of his jeans. Was that an ironing crease? She bit back a smile. That explained the starched collar. The handsome hero was clearly living with his parents.

What a nice man and a good son.

She snickered quietly to herself, watching Ricky as surreptitiously as possible in a tight church community where a returned local hero was the star attraction.

Though to be fair, Jodi added judiciously, there was much to admire about Ricky Sharp. He moved easily, with the grace of a natural athlete and the confidence of a man who knew his own strength, laughing and chatting with old acquaintances as though he had been gone for the summer instead of years.

A citified man, she reminded herself, who was no doubt planning to return to his illustrious career and exciting life in New York City as soon as he had taken care of whatever business had brought him back to Temple Mountain.

The congregation stepped outside to a clear sky and a freezing late morning. The first blast of wintery cold.

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