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The man at the bar continued to watch her. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with a Miller Lite T-shirt and powerful biceps. She tugged nervously on one of her fake diamond studs. Her short tank dress was sexy, but not so trashy that it served as an open invitation, and she wished he'd look somewhere else.
Ethan took a sip of scotch and shot the man an accusing glare. "What do you think you're looking at?"
She gasped. "Ethan!"
The man at the bar shrugged. "Don't see no 'sold' sign on her."
"Maybe that's because you can't read."
Her eyes widened with dismay. Ethan, the dedicated pacifist, seemed to be spoiling for a fight with a brute who outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, all of it muscle.
The man at the bar uncoiled from the stool, and she swore she saw the light of anticipation in Ethan's blue eyes. Her mind raced. What would Rachel do?
She gulped and held up her hand toward the muscular man. "Please don't take offense. He hasn't been the same since he gave up the priesthood." It wasn't much of a lie, she thought.
But the bully didn't appear to be buying it. "He doesn't look like a priest."
"That's because he isn't anymore." She took a deep breath. "He's very protective of me. I'm… uh… Sister Kristina, his… sister."
"You're a nun?" His gaze slid to the scooped neck of her tank dress.
"Yes, I am. And God bless you."
"You don't look like a nun."
"My order doesn't wear habits."
"Aren't you at least supposed to wear crucifixes or something?"
She tugged on the delicate gold chain around her neck and withdrew the small gold cross that nestled between her breasts.
"Sorry, Sister." He shot another dark glance at Ethan, then he settled back on his stool.
Ethan regarded her with annoyance. "Just what in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing?"
"Keeping you out of a barroom fight!"
"Maybe I don't want to be kept out."
"Catfish!" she called over to the bartender. "We'll have the fried catfish. And bless you, too," she added belatedly.
Ethan rolled his eyes, but to her relief, he didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he pursued his scotch, and by the time an overly made-up, dark-haired waitress wearing cutoffs and a Garth Brooks T-shirt arrived with their food, he'd finished it.
"I'll have another scotch."
"Ethan, you're driving."
"Mind your own business, Sister Bernadine."
The waitress gave her a suspicious look. "I heard you earlier. I thought you said your name was Sister Kristina."
"Uh… Bernadine was my name before I went into the convent. Then I became Sister Kristina."
Ethan snorted.
The waitress turned to him. Ethan was as handsome as ever, and she was clearly interested. "So what's it like not bein' a priest anymore?"
He jerked his thumb toward Kristy. "Ask her."
