Page 48 of Preacher

“Your place.”

“Oh.”

She sounded surprised, so I added, “Figured your boys would worry if you were out late.”

“My boys know I’m grown.”

“Your boys aren’t blind. They know their mother is beautiful and is bound to turn a head or two. Never know when it’s the wrong one.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“You can take it any way you want, but your boys are right to be concerned about you. They’ve made their fair share of enemies in the area. They’ve gotta watch their backs.”

“Isn’t that what you are for?”

“We’re gonna do what we can.”

On the drive over, she seemed to be holding her own, but I could feel her energy shifting as we got closer to the house. Neither of us spoke. We just kept our eyes on the road ahead, and the tension in the car built with every breath.

I parked, and neither of us said a word as we got out and started up to the gate. She opened the gate and motioned for me to follow as she started up the stairs.

When we got to the top, she opened the door, and I followed her inside.

I took a quick glance around and stopped cold.

Damn.

I knew it would be nice, but I wasn’t expecting it to be a full-blown penthouse. It was incredible. There was a large living room and modern kitchen, along with two full bedrooms. And everything was decorated to the hilt.

The walls were painted a mix of white and gray, and there was an oversized sofa centered in the main room with end tables on either side. There were several large paintings of various white flowers. I didn’t know what kind they were, but they clearly meant something to her.

It was feminine, but not overly so.

It suited her.

All of it.

I was still taking it all in when I told her, “Nice place.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.” I shrugged. “Didn’t know a stable could look like this. You got good taste.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” She walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Wine?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She poured two glasses and handed one to me. Her fingers brushed mine, just for a second, but it was enough to feel the tension humming in her.

I followed her over to the sofa, and we both sat down. She tucked her legs beneath her before taking a long sip of her wine. She stared off into space for a moment too long, and I knew she was struggling.

“Tabitha,” I whispered. “This doesn’t gotta be hard. Just talk to me.”

She looked at me for a long moment, then replied, “I know. It’s just a lot.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

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