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ChapterOne
Heaven
I've long grown accustomed to the silence of my father's church, but today the emptiness seems deafening. The music of the pipe organ, usually so soothing and comforting, echoes off the walls, seeming to mock me with its dissonance. I try to focus my attention on the stained glass windows, depicting the life of Christ, but these too bring despair, as I remember the many sermons my father has given on the subject of obedience, especially to one's parents.
The door to the church opens and I turn. A man steps through. He's wearing a worn leather jacket and a pair of faded jeans. His dark hair is cut close to his head, and his face is ruggedly handsome. He stands just out of the light from the windows, shrouded in shadow, and my heart skips a beat.
The man steps further into the church, and I can see the tattoos that snake up his arms. My eyes widen in surprise.
He's the one all the authorities are looking for—not one of my father's flock—and he's here, in my father's church.
Oh, it's not the tattoos that let me know he's dangerous. I'm not that judgmental, though I know my father and his church are.
No, I've seen this man's face all over the evening news.
He's wanted for murder.
I take an involuntary step back as he walks toward me.
"I don't mean to intrude," he says, his voice low and gruff. "I just...need a place to pray."
I hesitate, unsure of what to make of this man. I've never seen someone who emanates such raw, masculine power in church before, and my father's warnings fill my mind. Yet something in his eyes makes me pause. His eyes hold a mixture of despair and longing, and it draws me to him.
"Go ahead," I finally say, giving him my permission.
The man bows his head and closes his eyes. I watch, transfixed, as he moves his lips silently in prayer. It's crazy, but I feel a strange connection to him and his plea for redemption. He looks so humble...I can't imagine him being guilty of what he's accused of.
When he finishes, he opens his eyes and looks up at me. He doesn't exactly seem peaceful, but his brow isn't furrowed as deeply anymore. His lips part, and he sighs a heavy sigh.
He turns to me, and I see his mouth moving, but I can't hear anything over the sound of my own heart beating in my ears like the thundering hooves of a thousand horses.
The man is rakishly handsome, and his presence is doing funny things to my mind and body.
When I finally come back out of my head, I catch the tail end of his words.
"Thank you," he says softly.
I feel my cheeks flush and clear my throat. "You're welcome."
The man smiles, and it's like the clouds have opened, spilling down upon the land, a rill of rain, so unexpected and intensely beautiful that it's as if each drop was charged with electricity.
My heart flutters. He's so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
I step back, and he steps forward, closing the gap between us.
"My name is Caleb," he rumbles.
Dear God above, his voice is smooth, like melted dark chocolate, with a hint of a rasp, like pouring cream over the top. His words hold a subtle musicality that makes my stomach flutter.
When I speak my own name in response, my voice is quivery but clear. "Heaven Leigh."
"Heaven Leigh," his deep voice rumbles my name as he reaches out and touches my cheek gently. "Heaven," he repeats as he strokes my skin, his voice settling on the shortened version of my name. His fingers are calloused and warm, and I feel myself trembling at his touch.
I decide that I like the way he just calls me 'Heaven' instead of my first name and middle name like everyone else does.
"I'm sorry," he says, withdrawing his hand quickly as if he's been burned. "I shouldn't have done that."
I shake my head. "No, it's okay," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
