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My mind drifted back to the preacher’s daughter. That was one hot woman. I felt myself getting hard thinking about her. She was beautiful, too, but she acted like she didn’t give a shit about it. She knew she was sexy, but it was part of who she was—she didn’t use it as a weapon.

Thinking of her full lips had inevitably given me a boner, and I was gonna do something with it when I heard the floor creak outside my door.

I sat up right quick and made sure there was nothing obvious on show.

Momma’s voice hammered through the wooden panel.

“I’m headin’ out. You said you needed some jeans—I guess I’ll have to drop into Goodwill. What size are you now?”

I climbed off of the bed and cracked the door to look at her.

“Thirty-two waist, 34 long.”

She nodded and walked away.

The short conversation had sufficiently deflated me, so instead of going back to my room, I headed for the garage to lift some weights. Mikey had left a set in there and since I’d been back, I’d turned the space into a mini gym.

I worked out for a couple of hours until I heard Momma’s car crunch to a halt, immediately followed by Dad’s truck.

I debated whether or not to go into the house but decided to stay in the garage where I’d be out of the way.

After half an hour, Momma banged on the door.

“Supper’s ready.”

The kitchen smelled of fried chicken. Momma had a way of using a whole load of herbs, so it was slightly spicy and tasted amazing. It was the only thing I liked about living here.

The first day I’d arrived back, she’d set three places at the table so we could all eat together. I think every single one of us had gotten indigestion staring at each other while trying to eat. Since then, she’d left my food at the kitchen table while she and Dad ate on trays in the family room.

It had become our unspoken agreement that the least time we all spent together, the better we’d get on.

I knew they didn’t want me here, but for now we were all locked together with our memories—frustration and hurt on my part; hatred on theirs.

I knew the preacher-lady thought she’d done me a damn favor talking them into having me back, but I wished a dozen times a day that she hadn’t.

It didn’t help. Wishing was for fools.

I rinsed off my plate in the sink and stacked it in the dishwasher, before heading back to my room.

I hoped I’d be able to sleep through the night, but the nightmares had been pretty bad since I’d gotten home. The counselor had warned me about it—I just didn’t think they’d be so fucking terrifying. The first night back, I thought I was having a heart attack. Dad had shaken me awake, then left without a word. Guess I’d pissed him off by spoiling his sleep.

I wasn’t surprised to startle awake in a cold sweat at 3 AM, but at least I hadn’t roused the house this time. Or if I had, no one cared.

I blew off some steam in the garage for an hour, then headed back to bed. It was just after dawn when I woke again.

Another fucking day in Paradise.

 

 

Jordan

 

“What are you doing here?”

I didn’t need to look up to know who was speaking—I recognized her voice. It wasn’t that hard. Apart from my family and the Rev, no one else spoke to me—unless it was to yell curses.

I didn’t want to look at her, even though she was fucking beautiful, so I mumbled an answer.

“Workin’.”

“What? You work for my mom?”

That did make me look up. I thought she knew. Wasn’t that why she gave me the coffee? Because she knew who I was—the local charity case.

I made a mistake when I met her eyes. I was immediately caught in her intense gaze.

“I thought you knew.”

“Nope, not till now. So you’re what, like a handyman?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Oh, okay.”

I couldn’t help my eyes drifting up across her body as she spoke. I guessed she must have just woken up because her hair was all tangled and she looked like she was wearing what she’d slept in. She held a mug of coffee in her hands and the smell of those beans had my nose quivering like a coon dog. But then she crossed her legs, and my eyes were drawn to the sexy boy shorts she was wearing and tight tank top showcasing the most fan-fuck-tastic tits that…

“My eyes are up here, jerk-off!” she snapped.

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks and dropped my eyes to the ground once more. I picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and headed toward the back of the yard.

Stupid stupid stupid.

“Hey!” she yelled after me. “You forgot your damn coffee again!”

I looked back at her, surprised. She was holding out the mug of coffee with an amused smile on her face.

“Black, no sugar—right?”

I nodded, still unsure what she meant.

“Well, I’m not carrying it across the damn yard to you!” she huffed, wiggling her bare toes at me.

She cussed a lot more than any preacher’s daughter I’d ever met before. She put the coffee down on the porch step and patted the space next to her.

“It’s okay, I won’t bite.”

God, I really hope that isn’t true.

I clamped my tongue between my teeth to keep from saying something dumb like that out loud.

Gingerly, as if she might change her mind and explode with anger, I sat down next to her and picked up the mug of coffee. It smelled like heaven. I took a small sip and almost moaned with pleasure.

“The good stuff, huh?” she smiled, raising one eyebrow.

“It sure is, ma’am. I haven’t tasted anythin’ that good since … since forever.”

“Ma’am?” she laughed. “Jesus, that makes me sound like I’m a hundred or something. How old are you, for crying out loud?”

“I’ll be 24 at the end of the year,” I answered, my head spinning like a pinball.

“Oh, me, too. I turned 24 in April.”

I stared down at my coffee, unsure if I was supposed to say ‘congratulations’ or something. She looked like she was expecting me to speak.

“Don’t get all Chatty Cathy on me!” she laughed, and nudged my shoulder.

Christ, I’m pathetic. A hot woman is talking to me, and I just sit here, dumb as a rock. I used to be good at this shit.

“You from around here? You sound like you are, but ya never know.”

A jolt of surprise shocked me. She doesn’t know who I am!

“Yes, ma’am. Born and bred.”

“I told you—don’t call me ‘ma’am’. My name is Torrey.”

Even her name was pretty.

She paused, and I realized she was waiting for me to introduce myself. I guess the last eight years had robbed me of my manners, along with everything else.

“Well, did you ever go away to college?” she went on, overlooking my silence. “I went to Boston University,” she said, proudly, “and then I did law school for a couple of months. That sucked, so I did a certification class for paralegal studies instead. That was much better.” She frowned. “Well, until recently.”

I decided that if she really didn’t know, I’d better just tell her, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“I got my GED in juvie.”

I cringed internally, waiting for the shutters to come down.

Instead she gave a small laugh. “Oh, are you a bad boy?”

I didn’t answer, not having a fucking clue what to say. I couldn’t even look at her.

Her voice was softer as she spoke again. “Oh, sorry. I can be really blunt sometimes. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I take it you didn’t go to college after juvie then?”

I shook my head then risked a quick look at her. Her expression was kind but not pitying. It gave me a moment of hope. False hope, in all probability, but hope nonetheless.

“I guess you could say I graduated to prison after juvie. I got out a month ago.”

She was silent for a moment.

“This must be weird then. What was it like? When you got out?”

My eyes slid to hers. No one had asked me anything so direct.

“Why do you want to know that?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering. Must have been hell.”

I nodded. Yup, hell. That was one of the ways I could have described it.

“Did you know that your momma convinced my folks to take me back when I got out?”

I don’t know why I offered her that information. I just didn’t want her to stop talking—it had been so long.

She gave a wry smile. “No, I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me. Dear ole Mom, always trying to fix other people’s problems.”

I was desperately trying to think of something else to say. “So, um, you just moved here?”

Great question, genius! There’s a freakin’ U-haul trailer still parked in the driveway.

“Yeah, just moved down from Boston. After I quit my job, I thought I’d try small town life for a while.”

I nodded, still having no clue what to say next.

“So, you’re back living with your parents,” she began again.

“And you.”

She pulled a face. “Yeah, it’s surreal.”

“I wish she hadn’t.”

“Wish who hadn’t what?”

“Your momma. I wish she hadn’t told my parents to take me back.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, staring straight at me.

I struggled with what to tell her. I mean, I didn’t know this woman, and certainly shouldn’t go around trusting her just because she was the preacher’s daughter. But it felt so good to shoot the shit with someone who wasn’t judging me by what I’d done, or what they’d heard. It was addicting, and I didn’t want it to stop.

“I just think it might have been easier to be a nobody in one of the halfway houses in the city. An ex-con like a thousand other guys. Here, everyone knows my story and has decided I’m trash.”

“Except me,” she said, still staring straight into my eyes.

It kind of hurt to have her look at me like that—like she was seeing into my soul, or some shit.

“Yeah, but that’s because you don’t know me.”

Her eyes didn’t flinch.

“You want me to leave you alone?”

The way she said it, I knew that if I said yes, she’d walk away and that would be that. Painful as it was to talk about everything, I didn’t want this to be the end of it.

“No, I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

Her lips turned upward with this amazing smile that made her eyes sparkle, and her nose did this cute little wrinkling thing. I was hooked—and in so much trouble.

“Good,” she said, simply.

We sat there in comfortable silence for several minutes. Well, I think she was comfortable—my dick was so hard, looking at those long legs of hers stretched out in front—comfortable was the last thing I was.

She seemed to be staring into the distance, but I guess she must have noticed my condition after all, because she said in a conversational tone, “If you want to use the bathroom to jack off, better do it now because I’m going to take a shower in a minute.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue, and I’m sure my jaw was pretty darn close to dropping on the floor.

“Excuse me?” I managed to cough out.

She turned an amused face toward me.

“You just look a little uncomfortable there, cowboy. I thought you might need some relief.”

“Jeez! Are you always this direct?”

She hitched her shoulder in a delicate shrug.

“Pretty much. Does it bother you?”

“Um…”

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to answer that. It bothers most people.”

She sighed and looked a little sad.

“No, I like it,” I said, surprised that I was trying to reassure her.

“Really?” she said, smiling again. “That would be cool since we’re going to be friends.”

“We are?”

“Sure, cowboy.”

“My name’s Jordan. Jordan Kane.”

I finally managed to stammer out my name. She studied my face and I felt my cheeks heat up. I hadn’t had a woman look at me like that in a long time. Finally, she held out her hand.

“Jordan Kane,” she said, thoughtfully. “Cute name for a cute guy.”

When I took her soft hand in mine I was in total shock, and her words weren’t doing anything to help distract the enormous fuckin’ log that had planted itself in my pants.

Suddenly, the screen door opened. Torrey let go of my hand as the Reverend came out. She didn’t look happy to see me talking to her daughter, and I wondered if she’d heard Torrey’s last comment.

“Um, I’d better get back to work,” I mumbled, hastily standing up.

“Sure thing, Jordan Kane,” Torrey called out. “Nice talking to you.”

I muttered something indistinct and hurried away, but not before I heard the Reverend say, “Don’t you think you should put some clothes on, rather than sitting around half dressed? Come on in, I need to talk to you about something.”

I saw the Rev throw a glance in my direction. I didn’t hear Torrey’s answer, but she followed her momma into the house. I could guess what they’d be talking about and I was certain that the preacher’s pretty daughter wouldn’t be talking to me again anytime soon.

That was okay. I didn’t deserve anything good to happen. Just talking to her like a normal person was the best conversation I’d had in eight years.

 

 

 

Torrey

 

“What’s up, Mom?”

“I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to go around dressed—undressed—like that,” she said, firmly.

I couldn’t restrain an eye-roll. Really? She’s trying to be a parent now that I’m 24?

“Well, first of all, Mom, I don’t ‘go around’ dressed like this. I sat on your back porch with a cup of coffee. It’s hardly like I was streaking down Main Street. And second, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

She huffed and dodged the issue for a while. I stood there with my arms crossed, waiting.

“Well, fine, you should know the truth.”

“About?”

“Jordan Kane just got out of prison and…”

“I know. He told me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails, and she slumped down onto the sofa.

“Did he tell you why he was in prison?”

“I think he would have gotten around to it, but we were interrupted,” I said, arching a brow.

“Come and sit down,” Mom said, patting her hand on the cushion next to her.

I took a seat in the easy chair opposite, hanging my legs over the arm.

“Go on then. Lay it on me.”

“It’s not something to joke about, Torrey.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

“No, well … the truth is Jordan Kane is a very troubled young man. Now, I’m doing my best to help him settle back into society but…”

“But what? Get to the point, Mom.”

She looked up at me sharply.

“But it won’t help him if you start talking flirty to him.”

I burst out laughing at that. “ Talking flirty? Jeez. Did we just get beamed up by a spaceship and land in the 1950s? I made the guy a cup of coffee, and I kind of get the impression that I’m the only person that’s tried to have a conversation with him in a while.” My voice sobered. “He looked lonely. I made him coffee.”

Mom shook her head.

“I heard what you said to him—you told him you thought he was cute.”

“Mom, that’s not flirting. That’s a fact. That dude is smokin’ hot.”

She gasped, and I couldn’t help riding her ass just a little more.

“Saying that he’s cute is like saying that it’s dark at night.”

“I know you’re trying to aggravate me, Torrey, so I’ll let that pass. The fact is that he would have seen it as you flirting with him, no matter what you call it.”

“Fine. You busted me eye-fucking the hot handyman. So sue me.”

“I don’t want you talking like that, Torrey!”

“Oh, jeez, Mom! I didn’t hump him on the porch!”

“There’s no need to be so crude!”

I was getting seriously pissed now. Did this woman not know how hypocritical she was being?

“Oh, is that right? So, talking to the handyman, whom you employed, and giving him a damn coffee is suddenly a cardinal sin? Why don’t we talk about what’s really bothering you, instead of dancing around it like a couple of queens at an Abba convention?”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” she said, standing up suddenly.

“Yeah, well I guess we’ll never have a real conversation then, because this is who I am. And if you’d stuck around instead of leaving us when I was 13, you’d know that.”

“Torrey, I fully realize you’ve got a lot of unresolved issues about my calling…”

“Screw you, Mom! You don’t get to use that as a defense! Not everything comes back to you. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t get to judge me.”

“Then stop judging me!” she yelled. “I’m doing the best I can here!”

I sat back, and we stared at each other for a long moment while she took several deep breaths.

“Jordan Kane isn’t someone you should be associating with.”

“Mom, come on! Associating? What does that mean? I shouldn’t talk to him? Shouldn’t make him a damn coffee? What?”

“I really think you could take my word for it that he’s not a suitable person.”

I couldn’t help sighing dramatically.

“So you’re not going to tell me what he was in prison for?”

Mom looked conflicted, but stayed resolutely silent.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll ask him myself.”

“Torrey,” she said, grimacing, “can’t you just trust me when I say he has a history of violence? I’m just trying to protect my daughter.”

Whoa! I didn’t expect that.

“After being placed in a juvenile detention facility for two years, he was transferred to an adult prison for an additional six. Surely that tells you something. You’re trained in the law—you know what that means. Now he’s served his sentence, I’m trying to help him every way I can, but he’s dangerous. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I couldn’t do the math. The sweet, shy guy I’d met on two occasions just didn’t fit with the image of a violent criminal that Mom was painting. Something was off, but I had no clue what it was. I mean, I could see he was a big, strong guy with abs like a washboard, but he just didn’t seem the aggressive type. The only vibe I’d gotten from him was that he was lonely.

“And from what his parents have told me,” she continued, “Jordan’s behavior started a long time before that. It seems that Jordan was always the wild one, always in trouble: drinking, drugs, fighting, girls…”

Mom threw me a look. She was telegraphing a message, but all I could think was that Jordan sounded like an average 16-year-old.

“Yep, drink, drugs, fights, girls—got it. What else?”

Mom sighed and shook her head, irritated that I wasn’t getting it.

“His older brother, Michael, was completely different. A straight-A student and a hard worker, he stayed away from strong liquor and had a nice girlfriend whom he was planning on marrying. He was a good boy.”

“Yeah, and?”

Mom sighed and looked away.

“Michael … died and it destroyed the family. It was at that time that Jordan was … sent away.”

“Wow. That’s … awful! The poor parents.”

“Yes, I know. It’s a terrible story. I feel for Gloria and Paul, losing two children that way.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean ‘losing two children’? Jordan is still alive!”

Mom shook her head sadly. “They lost two children in a very real way. It’s a terrible thing. Michael died, and Jordan was in prison.”

“Yeah, sure, but he’s home now. He told me that you persuaded his parents to take him back.”

She looked puzzled.

“He told you that? You were only talking to him for five minutes!”

“Guess I have a friendly face,” I said, evenly.

“Well, it’s true. I did persuade his parents to take him back. They didn’t want to have anything to do with him, and they hadn’t seen him for seven years, so…”

“You mean they didn’t visit him in prison? Not at all? Not even once?”

“Well, no. When he became an adult and was moved to the prison, they felt he was a lost cause and decided to grieve for their sons together.”

“Are you kidding me?” I almost yelled at her. “They just gave up on him? So much for being good Christians!”

“You don’t know the grief of losing a child,” Mom snapped back.

I leaned forward in the chair. “You didn’t ‘lose’ me, Mom. You left me behind. Your calling was more important than your family. But you know what, you made a choice—good for you. At least you didn’t hang around making everyone miserable while you decided what you wanted.”

She knew I was referring to the year before she left, when she’d prayed every night for God to tell her what He wanted from her. She’d been strong enough to make a tough choice. It was one of the few things I admired about her, even though it had been pretty shitty for me—and Dad.

“You don’t understand,” she said, quietly.

“Whatever, but you’re saying that Jordan’s family wouldn’t have anything to do with him all that time?”

“No.”

“So why the hell is he living with them now if they still hate him?”

Mom sighed.

“I thought it would help them heal—getting the family back together again. I’m sure it will, in time.”

Even though she said the words, she didn’t sound very sure at all, and bearing in mind what Jordan had said, I didn’t think time was going to make much difference.

“He’s damaged and he’s vulnerable, too. So you see now why I don’t want you getting involved with him.”

My head jerked up at that.

“Um, not really. All you’ve told me is that the State says he’s no longer a danger to the community, but everyone around here is treating him like a leper.”

“I know,” Mom conceded, at last. “It’s been very difficult … for everyone. And because Michael was well liked and well respected, having Jordan back—well, it reopens a lot of wounds, reawakens a lot of bad memories.” She shook her head. “I understand Michael was the school’s quarterback and on his way to college with a full football scholarship. He was going to put this town on the map. You know how Texans are about football. And a lot of good people lost a friend the day he died. It damaged the whole community. Some people are still grieving.”

“Yeah? Well, those ‘good people’ treat his brother like shit.”

“You don’t understand.”

“That’s because you won’t tell me the whole story!”

She nodded slowly.

“I keep hoping that it will get easier for everyone.”

“So how come he’s working for you?”

“Well, he needed a job to fulfill his parole requirements…”

“Let me guess: no one around here would give him work.”

She sighed again. “No, I’m afraid not. Although I’m still hopeful. I’ve gotten him a day here and there. He has a way with car engines. I’m sure a good auto repair shop could use a person like that. I haven’t given up, but in the meantime, I thought he could do something with my backyard. It’s like a wilderness out there.”

“I think you’re fighting a losing battle trying to get him a job, Mom. I know you like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I kind of think that’s cool, but most people like to have someone to look down on, and serving them up Jordan isn’t doing anything to help him. ”

She smiled. “You’re more like me than you want to admit.”

“What?”

“You like giving people the benefit of the doubt, too.”

A reluctant smile crept across my face. “Yeah, you got me there.”

It was the first real moment that we’d had between us since I arrived at the Rectory. It passed quickly.

“You’d better go take that shower,” she said, her eyes amused for once. “I believe you have a job to look for today.”

“Yeah, hopefully one where the people aren’t so frickin’ spiteful.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly, Torrey.”

“I think they’re the ones you need to say that to, Mom.”

I left the room and headed for the shower. She’d laid a whole shit load of information on me, and I needed some time to process it.

I felt really bad for Jordan. Ending up in juvie when you were 16—that sucked balls. He’d been painted as this villain, but it sounded to me like he was a kid who’d made some bad mistakes. Working in the law firm, I’d come across a lot of cases where one dumb decision ruined lives. It happened more often than you might think: infidelity, fraud, theft, drinking, drugs. You think you’re on one path and suddenly you’re bumping down some dirt road wondering what the hell happened to your life. Believe me, I’d been there.

I wondered again what Jordan had done. Maybe one day he’d trust me enough to tell me.

I also suspected that if I hung out around town long enough, I’d probably hear the full story anyway. It was only Mom who had any reservations about spreading gossip. It was irritating as hell, but I thought it was cool of her, too.

It had been good talking to her, having a real conversation instead of tiptoeing around each other. I didn’t talk to Dad that much. He’d lost interest in me after Mom left. He spent his time chasing women and living it up. I pretty much raised myself from the age of 13, and I’d always thought I was more like him, so Mom’s comment had thrown me for a loop.

To my surprise, I found that I didn’t mind being a little bit like her. At least she’d stuck up for Jordan and tried to show people he was more than just the ex-felon they all thought he was.

But then again, my tolerance level for her had been reached when she’d accused me of flirting with him. He was good enough to mow her lawn, but not good enough to talk to her daughter? There were some serious double-standards at work here.

I showered quickly, but it took forever to wash my hair. It was so damn thick and curly; there was so much of it. Guys liked that about me, and I liked it about myself, but it was a real bitch to take care of. Most of the time I let it do its own thing. Hairdryers were a waste of time. I’d tried to blow dry it when I was younger, but when I’d burned out my second hairdryer in a month, I’d given up. Now it just air-dried and hung mop-like from my head. The only alternative was shaving it off, and believe me, there were days when I considered it. The Texas heat and humidity didn’t help, because regardless of how I styled my hair—or tried to style it—as soon as I walked into the sweltering summer heat, it just frizzed out.

I dug through my meager pile of clothing to find a reasonable pair of jeans and conservative shirt. If I was going job-hunting, I wanted to look like a responsible and sober citizen. And I had no qualms about playing the preacher-daughter card if it was going to help me find work.

I glanced out of the window as I buttoned up my blouse.

Fuck me! Hot guy alert!

Jordan had taken off his t-shirt and was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that looked about two sizes too big, making them hang dangerously low from his hips, showcasing the curve of a very nice ass.

The sun danced on his back muscles as he pushed Mom’s beast of a mower, and I could see a tattoo on his left shoulder blade. It was a Celtic cross and had a bleeding heart motif in the center. Something was written across it, but he was too far away for me to see what it said.

Then he turned around and started mowing in my direction. His chest and stomach looked rock hard. Whatever else he did in prison, he must have worked out a lot. I guessed there wasn’t much else to do.

I thought I was having a hot flash because his body was making me think all kinds of things that nice girls shouldn’t have dirtying their minds. It was a good thing I’d never professed to be a nice girl.

I hoped he’d look up and see me watching him, but his eyes remained fixed on the grass he was cutting.

I enjoyed the free show a little longer before unpeeling my eyeballs from the window, and finished getting dressed.

I had a job to hunt down before my gas money ran out.

 

 

 

Jordan

 

I didn’t get to see her after the Reverend took her back inside. I knew it was likely that I’d never see her again, certainly not to talk to. She’d have been warned off me by now.

I didn’t blame the Rev—I wouldn’t want a guy like me spending time with my daughter either.

I heard her car start. I’d have recognized that engine sound anywhere—Pontiac Firebird—one of the last of that model. It was a damn fine car. I’d spent several minutes checking it out when I arrived this morning. It seemed like an usual car for a woman to drive. Most around here went for compact Japanese cars that were easy on fuel.

But not this woman. She was different.

I figured she was going to her job at the diner. Now that I knew she truly hadn’t known who I was, I questioned even more why she’d followed me with that coffee. She’d said I was cute. Maybe she’d been hitting on me, and I’d been too dumb to see it? Well, it wouldn’t happen again, not after her nice little talk with her momma.