Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) (15 page)

The scents of polishing wax, the ink and paper of the old Bibles people had begun to open, and the delicate fragrance of the Easter lilies circling the preacher’s pulpit suffused the room.

The rain had begun to pass and a delicate light was filtering through the stained-glass window above the choir members’ heads, illuminating the old rugged cross, as well as the dust motes dancing lazily in the air.

As Naomi made her way to a back pew and sat on the worn burgundy cushion, she was overcome with the familiarity and an involuntary shudder as the moment became an Easter, a much more painful Easter, of her childhood.

The lady, Vi, takes her hand and smiles down at her kindly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Haven’t you ever been to church before?”

She shakes her head and slips her hand out of the woman’s grasp to glance at the man on her other side. Vi’s husband, Paul. He hasn’t said much since they brought her home. But the men never do. None of the foster fathers in her last three homes since being taken from her mom have paid her much mind. Except for the one who told her how pretty her gold hair was and wanted her to sit on his lap all the time, making her feel funny. Dirty.

Mr. Paul seems to sense her watching him. He grins. “I think you’re gonna like it, Naomi. They sing some mighty fine songs. It’s my favorite part.” He looks away. “It’s healing for the soul.”

She has no idea what that means. But she peeks down at the ugly pink scars on her arm and wonders if he could mean something about those. Maybe if she tried to sing her scars would heal?

She chances one more glance up at the man beside her.

He smiles down at her, a soft half-smile. Then he pulls the Easter lily that’s pinned to the collar of his jacket, something Vi had put there laughingly that morning when it fell off their pretty plant at home, and hands it to Naomi. “For you, sweetheart.”

She can’t say more as the organist begins to play and Paul stands and begins to sing. She follows suit, hoping for some of that healing he talked about.

Please, God.

Naomi blinked back tears and automatically stood when the organ started playing the exact same song. So long ago, and yet it felt like it was yesterday. Paul had become like a father to her after that day and she couldn’t have loved him more.

Vi, either.

And no, her scars hadn’t been healed that day. But her faith had. Slowly. Her faith in God. In people. Vi and Paul had done that for her by simply loving her. And she could not, would not, let either of them down by letting their life’s work die.

Naomi’s eyes automatically sought Vi out in the choir as the chorus to “He is Risen” sounded, but she wiped away the tears and rejoined the singing once her memory kicked back in. Vi was in the rehab facility regaining her strength. But she would’ve so enjoyed this service, and thankfully, with the new choir member additions, it wasn’t sounding quite like a train wreck.

As Naomi’s gaze slid around the room, she spotted Beau, shiny as a new penny in his suit. And . . . happy. Happier than she’d seen him in a long time. And it probably had something to do with Delaney, who was shooting moon-eyed glances to him over her hymnal.

He peeked up at Naomi and smiled. ‘
You okay?
’ he mouthed, knowing how hard holidays could be for her.

She nodded. She’d been the one to shoo him off to be with his new girlfriend, after all. How pathetic would it have been to insist he sit with her, the needy best friend? Yeah, no.

Eventually they finished and settled down to listen to the preacher’s Easter sermon. The usual rousing oration of resurrection and promise. Hope.

The congregation bowed their heads as he finished with a prayer for healing and restoration in each and every soul present.

Naomi didn’t even realize she was crying until a tear quivered on her lip and plopped onto her lap. She opened her eyes and stared at the wet splotch for a moment, wondering why she was so emotional as the organ began again.

The choir began a subdued, reverent version of “How Great Thou Art” and her tears began in earnest as she kept her head down. This was Paul’s favorite hymn.

A baritone voice broke through the rest, and Naomi closed her eyes and focused. It was as if Paul was singing again and it was beautiful. There wasn’t anybody on the choir with a voice like that, not anymore. She must be hearing things, but she didn’t care.

She remained still and she listened. Remembered.

As the chorus came to a crescendo, another voice rang through. Not as deep as the first, but just as beautiful, maybe more so.

Then sings my soul,

My Savior God, to Thee,

How great Thou art . . .

As the other voices of the choir, including the deep baritone, began to fade away, leaving the lone singer, Naomi scrambled to her feet.

Who was that?

Her eyes just about popped out of her head as her mouth fell open. Was he for real?

Eli McSexy Pants, who had been avoiding her like the plague and threatening every plan she had for her life and bakery—all while tormenting her libido—could sing like an angel.

Go figure.

Chapter 19

Elijah cubed the beef and separated the fatty parts for Dog, his mind wandering back to Easter Sunday two days ago. What had overcome him? He had no idea that his vessel could produce those melodies, or that he’d enjoy it so much. But he hadn’t meant to get carried away. And since then, it seemed that every single woman in town between the ages of eighteen and eighty was paying him extra attention. And not for his love advice.

He cringed and added the beef cubes to the stew mixture. He’d probably never understand the human female.

Dog whined at the backdoor. He scooped up the fat scraps and went outside to sit on the steps with his friend. “Hey, boy. How are you today? Hungry?” He offered the treats one at a time, earning himself a tail wagging and a wet lick across the cheek.

Elijah glanced down the narrow alleyway. Vi’s Sweet Spot had their back door propped open and the smells of baking were wafting out. He could differentiate cinnamon, vanilla, and maybe a hint of ginger. The combination made his mouth water.

Pans rustled and Dog’s ears pricked up. Elijah’s heart picked up speed, hoping Naomi wouldn’t come out into the alley, though he knew that was being silly. He couldn’t avoid her forever. They would have to work on the benefit together.

I think I’m in love.

Yeah, he’d been thinking about that. He couldn’t get out of town. He had no car, plus he’d keep his promise to help with the benefit, no matter how hard it was. But he did have an idea. Call it a diversionary tactic.

Because love would never do.

But how could he go about such a plan? He’d never meddled so blatantly in all his years. But something had to be done to ease the aching of his mind and body.

Suddenly, a resounding bang sounded from Vi’s open door, making both Elijah and Dog jump. Automatically, he stood and took a step in that direction before he stopped. What was he doing?

He glanced down at Dog’s whine.

“Eli?”

His head popped up in surprise when Michael called him from Vi’s doorway, his face covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Elijah shot a confused glance between the diner and the bakery. Wasn’t Michael in the wrong place?

Michael swiped a large hand across his forehead and smiled. “I’m glad I found you. I could sure use a hand in here.”

“Uh . . .” Confused, Elijah stood there.

Michael laughed. “I’m helping Miz Naomi with a broken oven. Her big one went on the fritz last night and she’s having a hard time getting all their orders done with only one working.”

Elijah’s eyes darted behind Michael’s shoulder into the bakery. “You can fix ovens?”

Michael stuffed a hand in his pocket and bit his lip. “Well, it’s a skill I recently acquired. Learned it from a friend of mine in Texas.”

“Ah.”

“So,” Michael flicked a glance over his shoulder. “I really could use a hand. If you’re not busy.”

Elijah sighed as his conscience tugged at him. Why could he never ignore a call for help, no matter how small? “Hold on.” He trotted back in the diner and made sure his stew was put up for the time being and told Sharla where he’d be, before making his way next door.

He found Michael inside Vi’s back kitchen already tinkering with the inside of an industrial-sized oven, his enormous body nearly squeezed into the thing.

“Would you mind holding the flashlight for me?” Michael asked from the cavernous appliance without glancing back.

“Yeah. Sure.” Elijah grabbed the outstretched light and tried to aim it so Michael could somehow see whatever he was trying to work on, but it was difficult to figure out.

“Now hand me the 1/4” nut driver from my toolbox, would you?” Michael held out his hand, again without a glance.

Elijah peered in the box while trying to hold the beam of the light still. Nut driver. Quarter inch. Hmmm. He tentatively reached for something metal in the box, hoping he wouldn’t look a fool.

“It’s that one—”

At the sound of the all-too-familiar voice, Elijah’s eyes flew up and met Naomi’s gloriously green and amused ones.

“Right.” He abandoned the bulky tool he’d been about to grab, gripped the one she indicated, and handed it off to Michael as he felt his face grow strangely hot. Was he getting a fever all of a sudden? He glanced down.

“Not much of a handyman, huh?” she said, a smile in her voice.

“Uh, no.” He shot her a glance. “Never had much of a chance to learn, I guess.” Now he knew he had a fever. His face was absolutely flaming.

“Your dad never taught you stuff?”

He froze. Even Michael seemed to pause as the room grew silent.

She had no idea. It was an innocent question. He shook his head, trying to swallow his heartbreak. “Um . . . no. He did not.” He glanced away so she wouldn’t see whatever truth might be in his eyes. “But he taught me a great many other things.”

She reached out and touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

She didn’t say more, but kept her hand on his as they stayed focused on Michael, still working on the oven, thankfully ignoring their entire conversation. Or at least polite enough not to say anything.

But as her thumb brushed along the back of the flesh of his hand—back and forth—as though memorizing the tendons and veins, he realized it was going to be harder than he thought to turn her to another.

But he had to.

After a moment, Michael stepped back and looked Elijah in the eye. “Well, I think we’re all done here.”

Oh, praise God!

Naomi pulled her hand back. “Great. Thank you, Michael. Vi said I should write you a check. Is that okay?”

He waved her away. “No need. It was no big deal.”

“You’re sure? Surely we can pay you something?”

Michael grinned. “Well, if you insist, I could probably be talked into taking one of those apple pies off your hands.”

“Done.” Naomi smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Now may I borrow your restroom before Eli and I head back?”

Elijah glanced over at his name and Naomi smiled at him. “Sure. It’s that way.”

Michael sauntered out and she shifted to study him. “I won’t bite you, you know.”

“I know that.”

She tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She took a step in his direction, he took an automatic step back. Her brow rose. “You’re a beautiful singer, by the way. Easter service was lovely.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed.

“. . . though I got the impression I wasn’t the only woman who thought so . . .”

“Excuse me?”

She arched a delicate brow at him. “Really, Eli? Do you not know what a hot commodity you’ve become around here lately? I mean, seriously, I thought Claudia was going to pee on you to mark her territory.”

His mouth fell open.

“Knock it off,” she warned. “It makes me want to kiss you again when you do that.”

He ran his fingers along his forehead. “I don’t know what to do with you, Naomi. Honestly.”

She sighed dramatically. “How about start with telling me your deal. The confusion is killing me. First you kiss me, and I think we might be onto something, then you avoid me like I’ve got scabies. So what is it? Are you attracted to me or not?”

Damn honesty. He gazed into her luminous eyes. “Yes. Very.”

She swayed and leaned against the counter. She studied him a long moment. “I didn’t expect that answer.”

“Why not?”

“Seriously, Eli? You run hot and cold better than a Moen.”

He said nothing for a moment, not quite understanding her terminology. Finally he whispered, “I’m sorry. . .”

“Don’t be, let’s just . . .”

“. . . but we can never be anything but friends,” he said. Best to kill any ideas she had now, and quickly. It was more humane that way.

“Friends,” she repeated, hurt obvious on her face.

He nodded.

“Right.”

He eyed her for a moment, deciding his idea was, in fact, the best one he’d had in a long time. “And,” he added, “I have the perfect guy for you.” Ignoring her tears, he soldiered on. “Whatdya say?”

He had the perfect guy for her? Seriously?

Naomi stared at him blankly for a moment to see if he’d say he was only kidding, but he simply stared back with those big, brown eyes of his as if waiting for an answer.

Damn. He was serious.

She spun away, unable to face him as hurt stabbed her relentlessly. How could he—? Wait. She had no reason to expect anything of him. He’d never made her any promises. Hell, she had to be crazy to even be thinking they could have anything between them other than the few kisses they’d shared and the benefit for Emma. He was a hindrance to her plans for the bakery. Period.

So why did her heart feel like it was being trampled on by a cactus?

“Shit.”

“Sorry?”

She faced him again ready to tell him to go to hell, but something in his eyes stopped her. He didn’t want to hurt her, that much she could tell. “Why, Eli?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He swallowed. “Why what?”

Her mind automatically conjured up their last kiss. There was nothing friendly about it. Why was he making her spell it out? She sighed and picked up her discarded apron from the counter and donned it. “You know what? Never mind.” She whirled from him and began retrieving all the ingredients to replace the pie she was going to use to pay Michael.

Where was he, anyway?

The silence stretched so long, she thought Eli had gone, but suddenly his breath was warming the flesh behind her ear, sending tingles down her neck, the heat of his body nearly pressed against her back. “You have no idea how I dream of you, Naomi. How I wish things could be different. But we cannot be. I’d only hurt you.” His whisper sent chills to the very core of her. “I’m trying to save you, even if it kills me.” His warmth inched closer, his lips close enough to brush her skin.

His fingertips brushed up her scarred forearm, blazing a trail hot enough to brand her, then he was gone.