Free The Vicarage Bench Anthology by Mimi Barbour Page A

She gently patted his dear face.
    He nodded, gazing into her eyes, his own full to the brim with tears. “It’s because I know now that I won’t be leaving you, after all.”

Chapter One
    Bury, England 1967
    The tall, slim, well-endowed broad was strolling directly towards him. Damn! He didn’t want to share this bench with anyone else, even a classy chick like her. The last few hectic days had taken their toll. He needed to catch his breath and unwind. Alone!
    * * *
    She smiled and nodded to acknowledge him and continued to head toward the back of his bench, where a luxurious, fragrant bush full of wild roses spread its splendor. Rhett watched her slide tiny garden clippers from her shoulder bag. He supposed she was pilfering roses, and he wished she’d get on with it and leave him to his peaceful sanctuary. He heard a snipping sound, followed immediately by a whimper and a sucking noise as she babied what must be a wound. Feeling peevish, he ignored her.
    This pretty spot, just in front of the timeworn vicarage and near a busy country lane, had become Rhett’s safe haven over the last few days as he organized and attended his father’s lonely funeral. The vicar, himself and his old man had been the only guests at the service. His father had wished to be buried in England, in the church cemetery near the vicarage close to where he’d grown up. Rhett decided to honour this last request, though why he felt it necessary was beyond him. The old guy had paid scant attention to his family, including Rhett, his oldest son. While Rhett was a boy, the old man ignored him. As the boy grew to be a man he reciprocated, and so they never had a close relationship.
    Being an actor, making love to his leading ladies, and seeing his name in lights was all the fool cared about. Other than the ridiculous name bestowed on him, Rhett Parks inherited little else from the man who’d demanded to be called Father—never Dad.
    “I’m sorry. I seem to have pricked myself. I feel slightly faint.” The intrusive woman stumbled toward the seat beside him and slumped onto it, letting her purse drop to the ground. Her rose, the instigator of the disruption, landed at his feet.
    Without hesitation, he bent and picked up the stem, feeling a sharp prick in his thumb as he did so. His annoyance doubled. Silly woman was the last thought he had for some time.
    “Mr. Parks? Sir? Oh, my goodness! Whatever has happened?” The vicar rushed over and tried to hold up the body of the collapsing man, an impossible task. The dead weight rolled over and landed in a heap on the grass beside the wooden bench. The clergyman turned to the white-faced woman, whose open eyes were fixed and empty. “Miss Temple? Miss Temple? Are you all right?” The vicar reached over and nudged Carrie’s shoulder.
    “Ohhh!” Her head wobbled on her neck as she stirred.
    A crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk, and the perplexed vicar, in need of assistance, gestured to several of the men to come over to the bench.
    “What’s up, Vicar? What’s wrong with the bloke? Is Carrie all right?”
    “Shush! Call an ambulance. Mr. Parks has collapsed. Miss Temple is coming around, but she’s ill, also. I don’t know what happened. I’d decided to take my afternoon stroll, as it were, when I came across these two sitting on the bench together. I couldn’t pass them by without saying hello, but before I had a chance to speak, Mr. Parks stiffened and moaned and started to fall over. I tried to catch him, but I couldn’t hold him. He’s a large man.” The vicar rambled on, his voice squeaking with nervous strain.
    * * *
    “Ooohhh! Vicar! What’s happened? I feel strange.”
    “Yes, Miss Temple, I can see that.” The vicar, pulled in two directions at once, dithered back and forth between the body of the man sprawled on the ground and the traumatized woman whom he’d known since she was a child. He ultimately settled on Carrie and sat on the bench beside the ashen