Kiss the Morning Star by Elissa Janine Hoole Read Free Book Online

has my hand. The other one has fallen to my lap, clutching a soggy napkin.
    I can’t look away. Helpless.
    Kat’s cheek is warm and damp; her hands are soft. Did she just kiss my fingers? My heart is squeezed between two plates of glass, like it’s being squished into a microscope slide. Still it manages to quicken its pace.
    “Where’re you gals headed?”
    The sound of his voice startles me, first because it is so amazingly warm and rich that I mistake it for my father’s voice, and then because it is coming from directly behind me. Kat and I both spin around to see the owner of the voice, and our knees collide forcibly beneath the table. Pain jolts through me, and I’m not sure how much of it comes from my knees and how much comes from the realization that I am further away from my father right now than I have ever been.
    Then, leaning in to rub our knees, Kat and I collide: her forehead and my nose. The tears, already primed, spring up again as pain rockets through my sinuses. We’re a pathetic slapstick routine.
    “Oh. Oh, dear,” says the man behind us, leaning awkwardly over the back of his booth, a napkin in his hand. “You’ve got a little bit of a bloody nose there, darlin’. No, don’t lean back; the blood will run down your throat.”
    I take the napkin and hold it to my nose, pinching the bridge with one hand while the stranger peers at me with worried eyes. For the briefest of moments I recognize the echo of my father’s eyes, back when he still climbed my attic stairs to find out if I was all right. I scowl at the man.
    “I’m so terribly sorry to startle you gals like that,” he says. He wrings his hands apologetically, and I notice he wears a smooth gold wedding band on his left hand. I think of the woman who wears the matching band. I wonder if she sings with him. I wonder if she smells of jasmine.
    He nods toward our table. “I’m Lucas Shepherd. Pastor Shepherd, if you’d like. I have a parish here in town, a little country church.”
    A pastor. I nod politely at the man and turn back to my own table, hoping he’ll take the hint. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, least of all some prying-stranger version of my own father.
    “Wow, that’s kind of coincidental that you’re a pastor,” says Kat.
    Oh, god, Katy, not now.
    “See, Anna and I—I’m Katherine, by the way—we’re on a trip. A pilgrimage, if you will, with a religious purpose.” She turns to Anna. “Right, Anna babe?”
    I shake my head, looking back and forth from Kat to this Pastor Shepherd guy, a strange knot forming in my stomach. “We’re on a road trip, that’s all.” I feel panicky.
    But Kat is still smiling and nodding her head at something the man has just said. “Yes, yes,” she says, nodding some more, “Anna’s dad is a pastor, too, back in Minnesota. And we’re seeking out proof. Of God. Well, of his love.” She hits my shoulder lightly. “Show him. Show him the list. Maybe he’ll have some ideas for us.”
    This is embarrassing. “Really, it’s just a road trip.” And I’m not showing him this list. Is Katy crazy? It’s full of drugs and sex.
    Pastor Shepherd’s eyes are a warm caramel color, and they seem to grow brighter as his smile widens, revealing a charmingly crooked set of teeth and a lopsided pair of dimples. “Well, now,” he says, drawing out the syllables like music, “it’s mighty coincidental that we should meet just now. Or, not really coincidental, you know.” He gives us a conspiratorial wink and then casts his eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
    I tug at Kat’s sleeve, but she doesn’t look at me. What’s she getting at, anyway? I try to figure out what it is about this guy that makes me so nervous, makes me feel like ditching the bill and running off. There is nothing outwardly scary about him; he appears to be a kind and genuine person—the kind of person I have to grudgingly admit might have something to offer