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"Keep eating."
She swiped at her damp eyes with the back of her hand, then took another bite. It was the most delicious hamburger she'd ever tasted. Globs of cheese stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the pickle made her saliva buds spurt. She spoke around a huge bite. "Why are you doing it?"
"Couldn't think of anything else to occupy my time."
She sucked a dab of ketchup from her finger. "Before you lost your mind, how did you make a living?"
"I was a hit man for the Mafia. Are you done crying yet?"
"I wasn't crying! And I wish you were a hit man because, if I had the money, I'd hire you right this minute to knock yourself off."
He tilted up the brim of his cap and regarded her levelly. "You just keep all that good, honest hatred coming at me, and we'll get along fine."
She ignored him and began eating the fries three at a time.
"So how'd you fall in with G. Dwayne?"
The question came out of nowhere—probably a diversion—but since he hadn't given her any real information about himself, she wasn't giving any in return. "I met him at a strip club where I was an exotic dancer."
"I've seen your body, Rachel, and unless you had a lot more flesh on your bones then, you couldn't buy chewing gum with what you'd earn as a stripper."
She tried to be offended, but she didn't have enough vanity left. "They don't like to be called strippers. I know because one of them lived across the hall from me a few years ago. She used to go to a tanning salon every day before she performed."
"You don't say."
"I'll bet you think exotic dancers tan in the nude, but they don't. They wear little, thongs so they get really sharp white tan lines. She said it makes what they show off seem more forbidden."
"Tell me that's not admiration I hear in your voice."
"She made a good living, Bonner."
He snort
ed.
As her stomach began to fill, curiosity overcame her. "What did you used to do? Truth."
He shrugged. "It's no big secret. I was a vet."
"A veterinarian?"
"That's what I said, isn't it?" The belligerence was back.
She realized she was curious about him. Kristy had lived in Salvation all her life, and she must know some of Gabe's secrets. Rachel decided to ask her.
"You don't seem like the type a televangelist would fall for." He conducted his own bit of probing. "I'd have figured G. Dwayne would pick one of those pious church ladies."
"I was the most pious of them all." She didn't let a trace of her bitterness show. "I met Dwayne when I was a volunteer at his crusade in Indianapolis. He swept me off my feet. Believe it or not, I used to be a romantic."
"He was quite a bit older than you, wasn't he?"
"Eighteen years. The perfect father figure for an orphan."
He regarded her quizzically.
"I was raised by my grandmother on a farm in central Indiana. She was very devout. Her little rural church congregation had become her family, and they became mine, too. The religion was strict, but, unlike Dwayne's, it was honest."
"What happened to your parents?"
