The Rebel and His Bride Read Free Page A

in the store! he admonished himself, and murmured a quick prayer for self-control.
    Etta Dawson stopped to chat about the previous Sunday’s sermon. He tried to focus his attention on her words, but couldn’t keep his eyes offAnnabelle as she walked toward him, a triumphant smile on her lips, the jar of praline chips in her hand. He quickly said, “Mrs. Dawson, I’m sure you’ve met Annabelle, Virgie Pace’s granddaughter.”
    Mrs. Dawson smiled and murmured a greeting, and Gregory noticed her glance passing from him to Annabelle and back again.
    He wanted to groan. Etta was the biggest gossip in the Women’s Missionary Society. The society would have him and Annabelle engaged or even married inside of a week all on the basis of a chance meeting at the grocery store. He was used to the gossip—a young single minister would always get his share—but he doubted Annabelle would be amused.
    He really didn’t want anything to scare her off. At least not before he’d found out what had happened between them so many years ago. Until then, he doubted he’d ever be able to close the door completely on that chapter of his life. Every relationship he’d had, or tried to have, since then had been shadowed by unfinished business.
    He’d asked himself many times why Annabelle haunted him so. Was it because she’d been the one true love of his life? Or was it because their relationship had been the most passionate of his life? No one since Annabelle had stirred his libido the way she had.
    They each paid for their purchases, although Gregory offered to pay for her ice cream and pralinechips too. “Can I give you a ride?” he asked as they walked outside.
    “I brought my car.”
    In the parking lot, Gregory could see her eyes narrow as she perused the bumper stickers plastered all over his 1967 Ford Mustang. Was it the bumper stickers that bothered her or the vehicle itself? It was the same car they used to neck in—before she moved in with him in his tiny off-campus apartment.
    “I see that something besides the peanuts hasn’t changed either.” She indicated his car. “What, no Save the Whale stickers?”
    “That’s what Greenpeace is for.” He indicated their slogan. “They’re saving whales these days. I’ll see you at the church office?”
    She nodded and turned toward her car, but he had her door open for her before she could reach for it.
    “Still not locking your car doors,” he said.
    She shrugged. “Seemed safe enough in Small-Town America. Gran said the last major crime they had here was when Marty Cochran blew up Lute’s mailbox. Why’d he do that anyway?”
    “One of Lute’s goats ate Marty’s prize roses. Nevertheless, you can’t be too careful. Especially if you’re going to be living in Norfolk soon. That’s
not
small-town life.”
    Annabelle shrugged again and got in her car. How familiar this sounded, she thought. Gregory had always been after her to be careful. He’d saidshe was safeguarding something precious to him and should take better care of it. Apparently, some habits died hard. It frightened her how comfortable it felt to fall back into the old ways.
    Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she followed him out of the parking lot. If she had any sense at all, she’d disregard her promise and head straight back to Gran’s. Better yet, straight out of town. However, her curiosity overruled her good sense. She wanted to spend more time with Gregory, to try to reconcile the fiery, passionate young man she’d known with the man he’d become. The preacher he’d become.
    She’d often felt jealous of his causes, had thought of them as rivals for his affection. Mistresses. In the ministry, where a congregation demanded everything you had to give, she wondered how he managed—if he managed—to keep his mistresses. Or were they now simply bumper stickers and not the be-all and end-all of his existence? Had his congregation managed to do what she hadn’t? Had they managed