Free Grounds to Believe by Shelley Bates

thought. You’re just not up to this. But somehow she had to be. Resisting the will of the Shepherd was the same thing as resisting the will of God, and that was unthinkable. That would send her to hellfor sure. They wanted her to be a sort of spiritual funnel, making it easier for Ross to enter the Kingdom of God. But after that, what? Go on her way rejoicing? Marry Derrick and sit in the same Gathering with Ross Malcolm every week, trying to ignore the prickly feeling she got every time she laid eyes on him? She tried to define what it was about him that put her on edge. His masculinity, for one thing. Oh, yes. Confident, unfettered, don’t-care-what-you-think maleness. With her limited experience in that department, Ross Malcolm scared her to death. And yet something about the unhappy look in his eyes in the parking lot behind the bookstore had caught at her heart even as she’d pushed him away and run. The buried pain of loss called out for comfort. Could she be the one that could give it to him? Could she approach and tame the wolf without losing her own salvation?
    That was even more frightening. The future Mrs. Derrick Wilkinson, who would be the Deacon’s wife some day with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto, had no business thinking such things. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to be responsible for a man missing the way to heaven. What was she going to do?
    She looked up and saw she’d arrived at the worn granite steps that led up the cliff face, where the Hamilton River leaped over timeworn ledges of stone on its way into the lake. There was a small park at the top. She’d go up to the overlook and then head home.
    Deep in thought, she kept her head down until she rounded the semicircular rock wall that formed theoverlook. She didn’t see the big motorcycle parked in the shadows until it was too late.
     
    Ross had seen the woman approaching since she’d emerged from the trees, and had wondered why anyone would go beachcombing in a dress. She gesticulated toward the sand, as if she were having an argument with someone in her head. It wasn’t until she was climbing the steps that he’d seen her face clearly, and recognized the hair that was always trying to escape its confinement.
    A ripple of dismay ran through him at the thought of sharing his solitude with a cult-conditioned woman, of getting close to her in any way. But it was his job to get close to her. Kids were dying, and he had less than three weeks to find out why.
    Controlling his face, he spoke in what he hoped was a light, bantering tone. “‘Once, and but once found in thy company, all thy supposed escapes are laid on me.’” A sound halfway between a gasp and a moan issued out of the shadows close to the shrubbery, where he’d parked the bike. “Except I’m the one who escaped,” he added conversationally. “Didn’t look like you made it.”
    “Who’s that?” Her voice was strangled practically to a whisper.
    “You know more than one guy who likes John Donne and rides a bike?” he inquired. “Come on out of the bushes, Julia. It’s too late to hide, and I don’t bite.”
    For a moment there was no sound, and he wondered if he’d scared her so badly she’d sprinted for the road. Butwith a flicker of movement at the edge of the moonlight, she sidled out from behind the motorcycle, clutching her elbows and looking at him as if he were singed and smelling of sulphur.
    He hated that. “You cold?” He shrugged out of his jacket and held it out to her.
    Her gaze ran down his body and skittered back up to his face. “No. Thank you.”
    He shrugged back into the jacket. Just as well. “So. We meet again.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He noted that her gaze dropped to his mouth for half a second before centering on the bridge of his nose. Interesting. “You’re sorry we’re meeting again?”
    “No. For intruding.”
    “You’re not intruding. Hey, um, I meant that about escaping. Did I get you in