Page 15 of Whispered Southern Secrets

“Too late.” He’s so gorgeous, and I hate how adorable his smile is.

Needing to remove myself from his stupid gaze and how completely swoon worthy he is, I make an exaggerated motion of needing to go. “I’m going to go shower now.”

“I’m going to go wash my hands.”

“Maybe wash them twice.”

“You too. I mean—Yeah. Have fun. Bye. Just bye.” He presses his lips together in a tight line.

“Thank you again.”

“You too.”

I almost laugh when I see his face cringe.

Chapter Seven

J.D.

I dart across the street and take the court house steps two at a time. When Sheriff Parker called me in, he said it was an emergency. My shoes echo as I hurry down the hall. I find him sitting alone in the courtroom with a young man.

“This here is James. Good luck.” He hands me a folder that weighs at least two pounds. I open it and it’s his case history.

I chuckle and sit down next to James. “Seems you’ve been busy?”

“Yup,” he pops the p.

“Fifteen,” I say reading his file. “I remember those days. I used to get into a lot of trouble when I was your age.”

He snorts. “What happened, Preacher, did you leave the toilet seat up? Forget to say bless you, after someone sneezed?”

“I stole I cop car.” James eyes turn wide and he gives me a look that says he’s not buying it. “Wanna see my file? My buddy dared me to hop in it and take it for a spin. So, I did.” I shrug. “Couldn’t sit down for a week. My mama used a spare piece of baseboard from where they were remodeling the church to whip the fire out of me.”

“What’d your dad say?”

“He gave me extra work to do. I guess, like community service. Prayed hard. Kept calming Mama down. But I learned a lesson.”

His tone is bored as though he’s heard the same line over and over. “Don’t steal?”

“Don’t make Mama mad.” The ghost of a smile plays on his lips. I continue. “No. I mean—yes, definitely don’t make Mama mad. But what I really learned was that a quick thrill isn’t worth long-term consequences.”

“Gonna preach to me about spending eternity in hell.”

“Nope. Sounds like you’ve already figured it out.”

“So what’s your purpose here, preacher man.”

“I’m your juvenile officer. Call me J.D. Or Brother J.D. Or Brother Johnny David. Or… Preacher Man.” I open his folder back up and read down his latest case. It’s a similar story to some of the ones I’ve dealt with before. Troubled teen. Poor choices. However, no person and their journey are the same. I had the most amazing Christian parents, but still rebelled. There’s kids with horrible excuses for parents who have incredible survival skills. I want to get to know him as a person and not a name on a file. I’ve yet to send a kid to court. I know it’s still early in this career, but I want to be there and try to get these kids their second-chance. I try to push for counseling and community service for three months rather than have these kids go through the whole ordeal of being placed in front of a judge. I’ll come up with community service projects that will help him grow, and hopefully, he’ll enjoy.

“All right. Let’s get this over. When and where do I need to be?”

“Let me give you my number. I’ll let you know something by tonight. I need to see about where we’re needed.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We’re going to do this. And if you fall, I’ll be there to help you get back up again. I’ll be there to help you every step of the way until you’ve completed all your community service hours.”

“Why?”

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