Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(36)

On this particular day, Noah made it back to the church a little before three because he had an appointment with Paul Haggerty. He heard the water running downstairs and found Ellie bent over the sink, cleaning her painting gear. “I’m back, Ellie,” he announced.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Boy, you have a ton of messages. The phone was ringing all day. It’s a shock I got anything done around here. Why’s that phone ringing all of a sudden? You run an ad for some kind of soul-saving special or something?”

“Messages?” he asked with trepidation.

“Yeah. I wrote ’em down and left ’em on the desk.”

“You answered the phone?”

“What did you expect me to do? Let them all think there wasn’t any minister in this town? Besides,” she said, turning around to face him, “I’m supposed to assist. Right?”

He swallowed. “Um. I have a meeting with Paul Haggerty, the builder. Off the top of your head, do you remember any—”

“Well, a woman named Shelby MacIntyre wondered if you could perform a wedding in a couple of months. She’s hoping there will be a church by then. Gloria Tuttle called from Valley Hospital. She’s seen you around there visiting people and thought you should call her—she’s one of the nurses and can tell you about patients who might want you to visit them. You’re gonna wanna watch Gloria, Rev—she wants to jump your bones. She asked if you were married and when I said no, she giggled. Some old woman named Hope, who sounds like a man, called and asked how things were going and I told her we were doing our best.” Then she grinned. “And there were others. A lot of ’em just want to call back. And there were hang-ups—maybe you got a number that was used too recently. Do you usually get so many calls? I can’t remember the phone ringing once last week.”

“What did you say?” he asked.

“To who?”

“Whom,” he said, and then he almost kicked himself. “To Miss MacIntyre, for example.”

She studied his face for a second and then, with a hand on her hip, she said, “I said, ‘You’re damn skippy he’ll do a wedding—he needs the work!’ What do you think I said? I took her number and told her I’d have you call her back. The same to all of them. Except the nurse—I told her she was scraping the bottom of the barrel, going after your hot pants.” Then she smirked.

“You’re a pain in the butt,” he said.

“Yeah, so says the pot to the kettle. You thought I wasn’t smart enough to know how to answer an office phone. I’ve worked in offices!”

“I know this,” he informed her.

“Ah, you thought I got those jobs because I have—”

He put up a hand to stop her. “I never thought a thing,” he said.

“Boobs,” she finished insolently. Then she winked while she chewed vigorously on some gum. She cracked it for good measure. “I’m going to get this stuff cleaned and get out of here. I’m totally shot,” she said, turning back to the sink. “Can you manage now?”

“I’ll muddle through. By the way, thank you.”

“For?”

“For taking messages. I appreciate it.”

She grinned over her shoulder. “No problem, Your Worship. You have a good day?”

“I did,” he said.

“What do you do at the hospital?” she asked.

“Visit.”

“Visit?”

“There are people who don’t get company, people waiting around for someone to get out of surgery, people waiting for someone to die. It’s the kind of place where a friendly face and a few kind words go a long way.”

“People you know?” she asked, turning back toward him.

He shook his head. “I don’t have a congregation. They’re complete strangers. But that doesn’t matter.”

“Aw, Noah. That’s nice.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you, I am nice.”

She dried her hands on a towel. “Yeah. Watch out for Gloria, toots. I think she’s looking for more than nice.”

Ellie walked back down the street from the church to her rented room, feeling that good kind of tired that comes from having worked hard and done well. She was down to sixty-seven dollars until she could pry some church money out of the fierce grip of her cute boss. Oh, how she wished he was ugly, stupid or g*y, she thought for the hundredth time. Why couldn’t he just be g*y? That would make life so much easier.

But he was not g*y. Rather, he had waves of testosterone rolling off him. There was that build, for one thing—powerful. And that thick hair that fell over his collar, itching for her to run her fingers through it, and the burning blue eyes, the hands…Oh, God, his hands! When she got up close, and if he had his sleeves rolled up, she noticed a map of tiny white scars that marred the backs of his hands and forearms. When she knew him better, she was going to ask about the scars, maybe twenty of them, but she suspected he got them when he was doing whatever he’d been doing to make his palms callused and rough. He’d only touched her a couple of times, just guiding her in a gentlemanly fashion, but she felt his rough hands. You don’t get those in a pulpit.

Thinking about Noah made it difficult to remember that there would never again be a man in her life. Ever, ever, ever. She’d been hurt by men too often. Okay, there hadn’t been many, but the three major contenders had been totally horrible. Death, prison and weirdness. If there’d been even one lucky break where love was concerned, she might consider another stab at it down the line a bit, but not likely. She had already proven she didn’t know how to pick a man, and it was doubtful she could start now.