He was different with his tawny hair and warm blue eyes. Many people thought blue eyes cool, but Joe’s were as warm as a summer afternoon when the sun heated her skin and the insects buzzed lazily around the flowers. Tabby shook her head. It wouldn’t do to start spinning fantasies about her neighbor, the minister. Artists who dated ministers probably painted landscapes or kids’ portraits. Better to stay away and avoid the disillusionment.
Up front, Tyler helped an older woman bag customers’ groceries. When he spotted Tabby, he grinned. “Hi, Miss MacVie. Mrs. Tarpley, this is Miss MacVie, the new art teacher.”
The older woman smiled kindly. “Good morning. Welcome to Mountain Meadow. Are you settling in all right?”
Tabby returned her smile. “Very well, thank you. Call me, Tabby, please. I really appreciate the groceries you sent over. How much do I owe you?”
Mrs. Tarpley looked startled. “Oh, there’s no charge, dear. It’s our welcome to the community.”
“Thank you.” As they continued to talk, Tabby carefully avoided answering most of Mrs. Tarpley’s questions. While she knew the woman was simply curious, Tabby felt she had to be cautious. Until she’d accomplished what her mother wanted, she didn’t dare arouse too much curiosity. She’d prefer not to arouse any at all.
She drove home with the car packed. She was bent inside the hatchback looking for the frozen items when the man already occupying too much of her thoughts spoke from behind her.
“Allow me to help.”
Tabby bumped her head as she abruptly straightened, rubbed the bruised spot, and said, “Oh, that’s not necessary…” but Joseph Taylor had already grabbed bags and strode up the steps to her porch. She frowned, but followed, opening the door to allow him into the big, airy kitchen. She was way, way too conscious of him as he continued to bring in bags and she unpacked them. Even when he finished, he didn’t leave. Instead, he began removing things from the remaining bags and setting them on the counter, so she could decide where to put them.
He made her nervous, but Tabby couldn’t ask him to leave. He had helped her. Besides, she had never met a man that made her insides flutter. He did. Why was that? A small, cynical voice reminded her that he would never stick around once he got to know her better. All her life people had turned tail once she had either trusted them enough to show them some of her art work, or they had discovered it on their own. Why should this man be any different?
When they finished, she smiled tightly. “I—I have some iced tea made. Would you like a glass?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned. “And I’d run out of groceries to unpack.”
Her gaze slipped to his generous mouth. His grin affected her more than anything she’d seen so far. It brought out fascinating dimples in his lean cheeks. Tabby realized she was staring and spun away with a blush. She would like to paint him. Not only was he beautiful, but for the first time that she could remember, he inspired images in her mind that were warm and bright. She felt like a moth to his flame. She had to get him out of the confines of the kitchen. “We could take it out on the porch in the shade.”
And so, a few minutes later, Tabby found herself curled up on a porch swing, sipping tea while the minister of the Baptist church sat nearby. But it was hard to think of him that way when he didn’t fit any of her previously conceived notions about what ministers should look like.
“I appreciate your help,” Tabby said.
Joe smiled. “But you’d like me to go home now?”
Tabby flushed and her gaze skittered away. “I didn’t say that.”
He leaned back in his chair and set his glass on the table next to it, idly watching as a bead of sweat ran down the outside of the glass. “You didn’t have to. Some people are very effective at getting a point across without saying anything at all. It’s there in your voice and your body language. Do you think I haven’t encountered reactions like yours before?”
She didn’t want to be lumped in with other people. More than that, she didn’t want him to see how much he scared her. Tabby stuck her chin out. “Why would I have any reaction? I hardly know you.”
He smiled, but beneath it, she glimpsed weariness and disillusionment. “Yet you do. Have a reaction, that is. Is it me personally or the fact that I’m a minister?”
Tabby set her glass aside. She met his steady gaze squarely, though inside her stomach fluttered with nerves. “You’re very direct.”
“Sometimes you have to be, and while I’m being direct, I’ll tell you that I’m attracted to you, Tabby, and I don’t think that attraction’s all one-sided.”
Tabby shook her head, trying to convince herself with the same words she said to him. “No. But not in the way you mean. I’m an artist. I’d like to paint you. You—you have an air about you I would like to capture on canvas.”
“It’s my halo.”
Tabby gaped a moment, then burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you said that. Won’t you get struck by lightning or something?”
“No more so than you for saying your only interest was in painting me.” He lifted one brow and grinned.
She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times then said, “I don’t date ministers. I don’t do the whole church thing.”
Joe gazed at her with his impossibly patient blue eyes. He tilted his head a little, and one dimple appeared when he lifted the corner of his mouth. “I’m not asking you to marry me, nor am I even asking you to ‘do the whole church thing’—though I wouldn’t kick you out if you showed up. Could we try neighbors, maybe even friends first?” When Tabby hesitated, he arched one thick golden brow. “I’ll let you paint me.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Are you bribing me, Pastor?”
His smile expanded. “Whatever works, and call me Joe or Joseph. You’ll have to add the bribery to my list of sins.”
Tabby stood up. “Now?”
“You want to get started right now?”
“Yes. I’d like to get my sketchpad. It’s upstairs in my studio.”
Tabby didn’t realize he’d followed until she turned from picking up the heavy sketchbook and the zippered bag that held her pencils. Joe’s eyes were riveted on the painting still sitting on the easel, a violent flaring of dark colors intermixed with flashes of vivid fiery lights and glimpses of tortured souls. Tabby pivoted and covered the painting with an oilcloth. When she faced him again, her chin jutted and her shoulders were stiff.
Without looking at her, he said quietly, “It’s what you were painting the night I heard you….”
If anything, her body stiffened even more. “Heard me what?”
He looked at her. “Crying.”
She turned away with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s just a painting.”
“It’s like being inside Dante’s Inferno.”
She turned back and smiled at him challengingly. “Then let me paint an angel instead, and I have one more request.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to sketch you while you sing.”
He blew his breath out with an embarrassed laugh. “Seriously? You slammed your window the last time.”
“I