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That last line had created feelings so raw within Martha that she couldn’t even talk about it. Not to David. Not Becca. Not even to herself.
She’d never, in any nightmare she’d ever had, considered the possibility that one of her children would find her love worthless.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I POURED OUT ALL MY turmoil during the game this afternoon. Can’t you give me even a hint of what you suspect about the identity of Ellen’s attacker?”
They were in the Explorer again. Parked near Wal-Mart. Martha had the outside mirror turned so she could see the corner where Ellen had been picked up. David was keeping his eyes trained on the rearview mirror. It was dark and the car’s windows were tinted, making the interior impossible to see but they were both sitting low in their seats.
He was feeling far too mellow, trying to pull himself back by concentrating on the sermon he’d written for the next morning. Tim had invited him for dinner after the game. They were grilling hamburgers, he’d said, and his mother wasn’t very good at it. Martha had shocked him and judging by the consternation on her face shocked herself—by seconding the invitation. David had accepted before he’d had time to consider all the consequences.
It was customary for a single preacher to take meals at the homes of his parishioners. It just wasn’t wise for a single man to eat at the home of a woman for whom he holds a pointless attraction.
“Does that mean your answer’s no?” she asked, her arms once again folded across her chest. She was wearing another of her long-sleeved, button-down blouses. A black one. Tucked into a pair of jeans that outlined the shape of her legs a little too clearly.
“The man tried to pay her.” Any conversation was better than the one David had going on in his head.
For a moment the clamor in his mind drowned out anything else.
“Where were you?” Martha was staring at him.
“I’m right here.”
“Yeah, but your mind was a million miles away. I just asked you a question and you didn’t even hear me.”
She looked far too cute with her nose wrinkled up that way. When he found himself frustrated with the darkness that was preventing him from seeing the expression in her eyes, he sa
id, by way of diversion, “Repeat the question and I give you my word that I’ll answer it.”
Her grin touched him. Physically touched him. She didn’t move. He didn’t move. But she touched him. He felt her. In his chest. His groin. “Darn, Preacher,” she said, “with an offer like that, you make it tough for a girl to stay honest.”
“I’m only answering one question—the one I missed,” he warned.
“How are you going to know if I ask you a different question?”
She was challenging him. Teasing him. Making life much more excruciating than it needed to be.
“I’ll be able to tell,” he murmured—when all he could think about was leaning over in the darkness and kissing her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Nothing.
It’s a test.
Okay.
I’m not going to screw up.
I know.
Okay, then. More at peace, David heard the end of her question—just enough to give her a plausible answer. She wanted to know why the attacker’s offer of payment was anything but the remorse Greg had suggested.
“Why would a man pay a woman for sex?” He answered her question with his own.
“Greg thinks the guy was trying to pay for damages. Some reason he stopped being so rough when she quit fighting. Greg figures this isn’t a guy who’s raped often—or maybe ever before,” she said. David had heard the sheriff’s theories the same time she had.
“I’m not talking specifically about Ellen’s attack,” he explained. “In general, why might a man pay a woman for sex?”
