Page 43 of Ace
Savannah’s fingers tapped lightly on his head. “Get up,” she commanded.
Reluctantly, he stood, looking for his shirt, needing a barrier—anything—between him and this strange woman. She and her Gran Mere had a way of twisting Catholicism with voodoo to make it appealing, and for sure, Savannah had a gift of sight. She’d had not problem seeing through him. What a joke. For a federal agent, he’d certainly turned into a pussy. If Tuckercould see him now... Shit. He’d be on the streets, looking for another job.
“Stay,” she ordered softly, her hand circling his wrist before he could get away, drawing him back into her arms. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” she whispered, looking to her right, then to her left as if there were anything besides mice in the barn with them. “I love you, Keller Boniface, and I’m not afraid to say it. I believe I fell in love with you when you knelt to pay your respect to Gran Mere. I could see you clearly then, but I see you better now. You weren’t who I first thought you were. You are…” She paused as if searching for the right word. “…better. You’re better than I’d judged you to be, certainly more than I’d expected from a federal agent. I was wrong when I took you at face value. You have gifts, but you’ve stifled them until they cause you great pain and consternation. They hurt you, and yet they should bless you. Pray with me.”
“No,” he told her. “I don’t pray and I don’t—”
“I know, I know, you don’t pray, and yet you swear and curse. But who do you swear and curse at? Is it not God or Jesus Christ? Is that not how many of your curses begin and end, using the Lord’s name in vain?”
Well, hell, yeah.He had nothing to say, so he kept his mouth shut.
Savannah breathed a drawn-out sigh, her breasts heaving. “Is not cursing also a most desperate form of sincere prayer? Is not hating the God who created you and Carol Marie an angry man’s way of acknowledging there is a relationship between Him and you? That you still believe, even enough to damn Him?”
“No!” he nearly shouted. Cursing was vile and full of hate. Especially cursing God. Blaming God. That was what he’d done. He hurled accusations and condemnation heavenward at a power who could have and should have been there for Carol Marie, but who hadn’t bothered to show up! Goddamn it. Cursing was not prayer. It was mean-spirited and vengeful and…
So what if it was communication between an angry, hurt man and an indifferent God? It still wasn’t prayer, okay? Prayer was gentle communication of a higher nature. It was communion, trusting and kind. It was a son speaking frankly with his Father, and…
Keller turned away from Savannah at the thought. Could she be right? Were his out of control tirades still communication with a God whom Keller knew to his core was truly there? Did God see it that way? Had Keller been—somehow—praying all these years with every curse?
Keller ran a hand over his sweaty head, dragging his fingernails through the prickly stubs of his cut. It didn’t seem right, at least, it surely wasn’t proper. Men used the Lord’s name in vain all the time. Ask anyone. That was what hard men and soldiers did. They cursed and they swore, they drank like fiends and they sent wicked bastards to Hell. They sure as hell weren’t praying then.
Yet deep in his soul, Keller knew he’d only cursed the Lord hardest when nights got too dark and self-pity ran roughshod over him. When he’d missed his wife. Which, until Savannah came along, had been all the time.
She stood patiently waiting, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail that curled at the nape of her neck. Patience. That was her magic, damn it. She’d given him a lifeline, and now she was waiting to see if he hanged himself with it or… what? If he dropped to his knees and said,‘Thank you, Jesus, I’m saved!’?
Not going to happen. He was no saint and this was no miracle. Cursing was one thing. He refused to pray.
“We really need to move,” he reminded her. “Pack what you need. Keep it light.”
“But you need the same kind of help Isaiah needed. You need—”
“Not now,” he snapped, needing to get this woman to safety if it was the last thing he did today.
“Okay then,” she said as if she’d gotten the precise answer she expected. “But know this. You don’t have to love me back for me to love you. I offered my heart, but not in exchange for yours. If you never find peace, know I gave freely what was mine to give. I do love you. I always will.”
What the hell was a guy supposed to say to that?
Savannah smiled. “I’ll let the dogs run until I get back. They’ll be okay.”
He’d forgotten the dogs. They’d been so quiet. “How about your cats?” he asked like a complete ninny. Savannah had just bared her soul and given him a precious gift in the process, yet he couldn’t—wouldn’t—give her what she needed. Not yet.
“They’ll be fine. You made sure they had water when you fed them, didn’t you?” she asked as if she still respected him. As if she still loved him...
“Sure. Water and food.” Like the dogs, each cat had an individual indoor kennel as well as its own outside caged run. Answering was better than thinking about the love she’d just professed. How could she do that? Lovehim? Surely there were better men—
“Then I’m ready,” she declared as cheerfully as ever. That was another of Savannah’s gifts. She gave freely, while he doled out his meager gift of empathy and comfort in the smallest increments and only when he had to. Giving seemed to make her happy. Now that was something to think about.
She crooked her elbow like they were going on a date instead of running for their lives. “Shall we?”
Keller shook his head. If there were a way to deny this woman, he didn’t know it. He linked his arm through hers and humbly said, “Let’s roll.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Red and Sir Galahad were lounging on the grass outside the barn door when Keller opened it. Savannah chuckled. Her handsome pittie was really her most faithful baby, but the Red Irish Setter sprawled on the ground with him was a surprise. Most other dogs were tail-waggling happy, still chasing each other through the yard, sniffing at the debris from her house, and chasing birds they’d never catch. The fire was out now, but the interior would be a wet mess. She should have been more worried, but hey. It was only a house, and this was Louisiana, aka hurricane central. She’d learned that lesson early. Houses could be rebuilt, but those birds on her front porch...
Keller stooped to pat Galahad’s broad forehead. “Do you have another car we could use?”
He was wearing his holster again, both pistols loose in their cups, the leather strap comfortable across hisshoulders. He’d left his jacket and dress shirt behind and wore only the swamp stained t-shirt. For some reason, it looked tighter this evening, either that or his biceps were larger. Or maybe it was just that Savannah now knew the width and breadth of the manly body beneath the clothes.
