The Happy Hour Choir by Sally Kilpatrick Read Free Book Online

to change his hymns.
    â€œYou have to understand, Beulah and I don’t talk any kind of business at Sunday lunch,” Ginger said, despite my glare.
    His blue eyes bored through us. “What if lunch is on me?”
    Ginger and I looked at each other in surprise at this unexpected boon. Neither one of us was exactly rolling in money, but Sunday lunch was a tradition so deeply ensconced that we would often eat peanut butter and jelly during the week to keep our Sunday tradition.
    â€œAnd no business?” Ginger said.
    â€œNo business.”
    â€œCan’t beat it with a stick,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us at Las Palmas.”
    He nodded stoically, those lips still pressed together tightly to keep all of the things he really wanted to say from spilling out. When we reached the parking lot, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder. He shrugged out of his robe slowly and draped it over one arm, keeping it balanced so it wouldn’t touch the ground. Beneath he wore a crisp white shirt and mercilessly pressed pants. I expected to be disappointed by this last revelation but instead found myself admiring how well he filled out his pants.
    Why did he have to be a preacher? Why not a plumber, a used-car salesman, or even a telemarketer? It seemed so unfair that a man that good looking would have to be a preacher.
    He turned then as if he could feel my scrutiny, and I thought I saw a shadow of the man beneath the minister.
    No, I would not worry about the preacher man, I would not. I wouldn’t wonder about what happened with his wife or how he came to be stuck with what had to be a less-than-plum assignment in the hinterlands of West Tennessee. I would not marvel at how he could express such raw emotion and compassion in one moment and then want to chew me a new one in the next.
    And I certainly would not dwell one moment more on how, for a single traitorous second, I’d wanted to kiss his cheek and tell him it’d all be okay.

Chapter 5
    W hen Luke ordered cheese enchiladas I did a double take.
    â€œThe burly man is ordering cheese enchiladas?”
    â€œVegetarian.” He flashed a wolfish grin before taking a savage bite of a chip.
    â€œOh, you really don’t want to fit in around here, do you?”
    â€œFitting in is overrated,” he said as he scooped another chip into the salsa. How many times had I told myself that same thing? But the preacher man lived it. I hid on the fringes where it didn’t matter.
    â€œAfraid of hurting the wittle animals’ feelings?” I taunted.
    â€œNope. Gave up meat for Lent one year, and I really didn’t miss it.”
    Having seen on the first night the guns he kept hidden under that dress shirt, I couldn’t argue with his diet plan.
    Then he had to ruin the moment by changing the subject.
    â€œBeulah, I appreciate how your song may have inspired someone to join the church today, but you can’t deviate from the bulletin.”
    â€œNow, Reverend—” Ginger started.
    â€œI thought I told you to call me Luke,” he said with a winning smile. That was an invitation he might want to rescind. After all, she had almost worn my name out.
    â€œLuke,” Ginger began as she sat up as straight as she could. “I believe I told you we wouldn’t discuss business at the lunch table.”
    I put one hand on her arm. “We’ll waive it for now. Go on.”
    â€œLook, a lot of work went into picking out that song. You can’t just waltz into my church and tell me—”
    â€œHow to do your job?”
    I let that nugget sink in. Would he apologize? Doing so would require him to tell Ginger about our argument outside The Fountain, and he didn’t want to do that, for some reason. His eyes narrowed, and for a minute I thought he’d tell all anyway.
    As he shifted uncomfortably, his knee brushed against mine. I moved my leg to rest against his on purpose.
    His