Page 52 of Panty Dropper

When I was finished there, I stepped over to the sanctuary doors and took a program from one of the ushers. I caught a glimpse of the cover as I did and was taken aback. The photo on the front was of James Comfort Sr. as a young man, and it was absolutely uncanny how much Billy resembled him.

I took a seat and skimmed through the program, then stopped and read it more carefully.

He’d been an army vet. He’d also apparently had a lovely singing voice, played the guitar, and wrote music. Had a penchant for detective novels, and a sly sense of humor.

Clearly there had been more to the man than his failings as a parent. And wasn’t that true of everyone? We were all more than one thing.

From my pew midway back, I could see Billy, Hank, and Jimmy standing up front. There was a steady stream of people coming up to them and speaking for a moment before allowing the next group to come up.

I hadn’t been to many funerals. When Hal passed, he’d requested a private memorial service where my mother and I, along with a few of his close friends and work associates could say goodbye. He’d never liked a big deal being made over him in life, and he hadn’t wanted one to be made over him in death.

The only ones other ones I’d ever attended was with Blaine when he’d lost a grandparent, and then second cousin. At those, the family were all but sequestered until the reception, and then there was a more formal receiving line for mourners to offer condolences. Clearly, here in Firefly, it was a far less formal affair.

Of course, considering what Cheyenne had told me about Mr. Comfort’s particular requests, I didn’t know how safe it was to assume that anything that went on here today was indicative of a larger trend.

Billy’s eyes scanned the congregation and stopped when they met mine. A bolt of pure lightening skittered down my spine at the eye contact and a warmth settled low in my belly at the slow smile that spread across his face as he held that gaze for a long moment.

Oh, boy. Billy Comfort was one sexy man. It had been a few days since I’d seen him and I’d convinced myself that I’d built him up into something mythical that surely couldn’t exist. But I’d been wrong. His magic was real. I instantly fell back under the spell that he seemed to so effortlessly cast on me. When he looked at me it felt like we were the only two people in the world. No one else existed but us.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the world came crashing back in around us when an elderly couple approached him. The woman took both of Billy’s hands in hers and spoke with an earnest expression on her wrinkled face. He turned his attention to them. A little reluctantly, I thought. But that could’ve been wishful thinking on my part.

“Did you see that, Cherry?” The hushed voice came from the pew directly behind me.

“See what?”

“Billy Comfort eye f-ing me.”

I snapped to attention. I glued my eyes to the program, which was still open on my lap, but my ears were one hundred percent tuned to the conversation taking place one row behind me.

“Donna, sweetie, bless your heart,” came the whispered reply. “I’m sorry, but Billy was looking at me.”

“Why would he be looking at you?” Donna shot back.

“Why would he be looking at you?”

“Remember, we hooked up twice last year. And clearly, he hasn’t forgotten.”

My jaw dropped as I kept my eyes focused on the program. I could not believe that these women were talking about Billy like this at his father’s funeral. Sure, I’d been thinking about things of that nature, but I’d had the class and good sense to keep those thoughts to myself.

“A year ago? I was with him six months ago, and it was hotter than a four-alarm fire. So, I guess we know who he was really looking at.”

Just then I heard a thwacking sound before a familiar voice said, “Y’all better shut your mouths or you’re both headed to a place hotter than a four-alarm fire. We’re in church, for heaven’s sake! Show some respect or I’ll twist the ears off of both of ya, and you know I will.”

My lips pursed together as I held in the laughter that was doing its best to bubble up inside of me at the image of these two women being on the receiving end of good, old-fashioned ear-twistings. It was everything I could do not to turn around to see the looks on their faces.

Donna mumbled, “Sorry, Mrs. B.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cherry must suffer from the same verbal tick I did.

After the short-lived glow of indulging in that junior high school moment of picturing the women being dragged out of the church by their ears, what I was left with was an ice-cold pit in my stomach, and a nagging question in the back of my mind.

Exactly how many women did a person have to sleep with to earn the nickname Panty Dropper?

And then how many more to maintain it?

I’d been down the road of being cheated on before, and that was with someone who’d put a ring on it. Billy and I hadn’t made any commitments to each other, so any extracurricular activities he indulged in wouldn’t be cheating. And those women had said that their encounters had taken place months before. So why did I feel betrayed?

It was totally irrational. I knew that. I did. I knew it. The problem was, I didn’t feel it. No matter how much logic I applied to the situation, there was no way around how I was feeling.

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