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Chapter
Fifteen

Guilt. It was the worst possible feeling
known to man.

Nevertheless, guilt shook his soul from the
moment he forced his muscles to take a step back from her . . . and then told
her “No”.

Christian felt so damn guilty that it
ate at his soul, piece by bitterly agonizing piece. He hated such a damning
feeling. More so, he hated to put the look of regret in her eyes, knowing it
had been done on purpose. She was, after all, quite right. If they had sex,
easy access to an empty bed and the availability to look the other way, it
would be a terrible mistake on both their parts.

Sara was incredibly vulnerable. She
needed comfort and reassurance that life was still good. As a Reverend—Good
God, as simply a friend to her—he could’ve easily gave her everything she would
ever want. But he could not and should not lower his convictions, though he
certainly desired to do so.

If he had sex with this woman, those
convictions would be meaningless. Sara would expect more than it being done for
the simple pleasure of touch. And Christian was unprepared to give her more
than already offered until he could somehow settle his heart with the regrets
of his past.

Beale had hurt him in the worst possible
way. His dead wife had an affair with a man Christian, since childhood, had
called his best friend. She’d been pregnant with that man’s child from the affair.
Betrayal on a scale as grandiose as that was harsh; too harsh and too disturbing
for a man to dissipate from his thoughts by the simple wave of a hand.

He never figured betrayal from his best
friend would ever happen. Then again, he certainly should have expected it,
knowing very little of Beale before marrying her.

She’d been love at first site. No,
correction, she’d been lust at first sight. The love part never quite reached
the plateau that it was supposed to.

Christian had been a total mess at the
time. He was just starting in town as the new Reverend. He didn’t have time for
Beale, and when he had, he drank that time away, purposefully avoiding what he
hated to look at in the mirror.

Younger, foolish, Beale’s cunning skills
had drawn him in.

The moment Beale died, Christian felt
the guilt of Adam hit him so hard that it staggered him for days. He’d been
glad his wife died. Her death gave him the freedom he desired for so long.

However, that freedom came at too high a
price.

The questions, the answers he’d been
unwilling to give, they all ripped him into shreds, leaving an empty shell of a
man.

Sara Ruby was not Beale. No. She was so
much better than a man’s lust. Yet, with Sara, Christian’s guilt was derived
from a whole other source; the devil himself the cause for it. Surely only the
devil would want a good and decent man to throw himself at a woman so unworthy
that it made the teeth ache.

Surely only the devil would keep a man’s
lust at an all-time high; painful and unbearable between the legs.

Only the devil then able to put so much
dire temptation at his fingertips—and Christian unable to do anything about it.

Well, he wanted nothing to do with the
devil’s wish today. In this room, inside this house, within his heart, knowing
that heart already taken . . . God was in command.

And God wanted Reverend Mohr to remember
His
Commandments.
He
wanted Christian to behave as
Reverend
Christian Mohr
.

He was supposed to protect the innocent
with righteous prayers and good deeds, not make love to a woman who so
vulnerable and not his to have. Worst still, not his wedded wife. Just looking
in her soulful eyes, he knew Sara did not feel as he did. He could tell—purely
by her actions and words—she would do what she could to fight against him on
this.

God had made Eve for a reason. Check
Adam when the ego too large and the need too great. Sara Ruby was just another
Eve. She wouldn’t understand; nor dared she even try to understand what was
going through his head. She made him want her in the worst possible way, and
this want would have disastrous complications if left free reign.

Guilt was far too bitter of pill to
swallow for any man. A razor-edged pill laced by feminine wildfire? Well, that
was a truly dangerous medicine to a man’s soul.

He took another step out of her arms,
then another, until he was very near the bedroom door and ready to bolt.

Sara was staring at him. Hard. The
penetration of her eyes checked his words. She didn’t have to say what was on
her mind. He could see exactly what this was through the mutiny in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sara,” he told her.

As she stepped forward, Christian took
another large step back, holding up his hand. “This can’t happen. I know this
is what both of us want. But right now, it is not what you need.”

She quickly voiced an opposite opinion
toward this. “And how would you even know what I want or need, Reverend?”

He gave a suddenly angered woman a weary
smile. “It is the same need as I have, Sara—only far stronger, and much more
convincing to the flesh.”

Apparently, this was the first time she’d
ever shut down by a man she’d literally thrown herself at.

“Then why are you leaving me if your
need is as great as mine?”

“Because . . . if I do not leave this bedroom
within the next two seconds, I will never leave. And life for the both of us
would have harsh answers to be made to those asking far too many questions
about it. I, for one, don’t want to make excuses to how I feel about you.”

“I say . . . let them ask,” she said
quick, trying quite valiantly to change his mind and have him stay with her.

Only Christian’s mind was set firm on
escape. He wanted her. Of course, he did. The woman was smokin` hot.
Nevertheless, he could not have her. Her flesh could not be his. Her touch was
not to be his. Her heavenly kisses were not to be his—at the very least, not
supposed to be his.

Sara Ruby was a sin of the very worst
kind. A man’s unquenched thirst set near a dry well.

Christian had thought he could control
that thirst and the undeniable desire he had for her. That moment passed. Control
was slipping steadfastly away. All he had to do was look into her eyes and his
mouth watered, wanting more.

They barely knew each other. Sara lost
everything by fire. To take her in his arms, and then to bed, would’ve been
wrong on his part. We would be using her—nothing less, nothing more.

Until gave the chance to figure her out,
he was going to leave things as they are. He knew now he should never have
pushed her by so many kisses and so great of want spoken aloud, but he was only
mortal man and sin his only vice.

The moment he’d stepped foot inside the
comforting warmth of his church earlier today, felt the presence of God
surrounding him in a way that could not be stopped or explained, and he
delivered Harriet Thorn those prayer books with more than accurate advice he
need watch his step in Preacher’s Bend, Christian was ever so gently reminded
who and what he was.

As a Man of the Cloth, he had an unwed
woman inside his house, and she wanted him as much as Eve had likely desired to
have Adam in her grasp. This need, that desire, the incredible lust had to simmer
for now. As Sara had said . . . before something terrible happens neither would
regret.

****

Sara could not imagine a harder slap to
the face than the one given her by Christian handing her a hard stare, then walking
away and out of the bedroom in mute.

She felt the slap as if physical—a
plunged knife straight through the heart.

Taught always to face pain head on, and
quite experienced in the rejection department, she knew she had to leave things
as they were. But the pain grew to where she could barely breathe, so she
followed his hasty escape, intent on altering the future.

Unfortunately, she could not find him
until nearly five minutes of futile search throughout the house. He’d simply
vanished, or perhaps had been hiding from her.

It wasn’t until she noticed the back
door stood open that she found him. Christian had gone outside and was seated
on a stone bench in his back yard, staring off into the dark woods directly
behind the house.

Her footsteps brought her close, but she
stayed far enough behind him so as not to disturb him from his thoughts. His
hands were clasped in prayer and the Reverend talking to someone; likely, that
someone his God. Not hers.

When done, he said loudly, “You can come
closer, Sara. God won’t turn you into a pillar of salt for being nearer to me.”

His body faced to the woods his tease
didn’t quite achieve its intended target. For a brief moment, Sara wasn’t quite
so certain God would look the other way, or not turn her into a pillar of salt.
She certainly deserved to be for what she’d done and said to Christian back
inside the house. She’d practically begged him to stay with her.

The guilt toward it, and the shame of
her past brought to her heart, caused her forward footsteps to be timid and
filled with wrought. Yet if she stayed mute, it would only eat her alive as to
what was running inside his head. Without told, she would never be able to
guess his intentions, or even put answer to her own.

Christian slid over on the bench to make
room for her. When she sat, he took her hand in his and held onto it for dear
life.

He started first. “I’m sorry I just
walked away as I had. Nevertheless, we both know that if I hadn’t, things would
have gotten well out of hand. And neither of us, I feel, is ready for that.”

Sara nodded, giving his fingers a gentle
squeeze. “I’m sorry, as well. I’m so lost right now that I pushed you to hard.
I’m scared. I have someone out to get me, someone who already took so much from
me. And I nearly . . . Well, I should’ve pushed you away, not begged you closer.
My only excuse is my fear.”

Christian’s blue eyes trapped hers.
“Sara  . . .”

“Yes?”

He then leaned to her and gave her a
sweet, exquisitely gentle kiss. As he pulled back, he said, “Please forgive me,
but I had to do that.”

Her answering smile produced more out of
him.

“If I had left things as they stood, the
guilt would have been far worse. I had to kiss you right now. In fact, I have
to touch you to make this real.”

“I . . . ,” she started, unable to
finish the sentence because his lips had found hers again, and this time
Christian did not pull away. His hand slipped around her back and strong muscle
in his arm drew her closer to him.

He’d left her breathless.

“I can forgive you,” she whispered
against his mouth. “But can you forgive yourself, Reverend?”

He gave her an easy smile that said the
answer to this was a definite ‘no’.

He couldn’t forgive his actions. Perhaps
why he’d been out here, asking God to do it for him. Regrettably, God must have
left it up to Christian to choose, because it wasn’t long before she found her
body pulled from the bench and they started walking toward the woods, hand in
hand. Dusk settling around the back yard, drawing deep shadows across the lawn,
fairly soon it would be too dark to see even a few feet in front of her.

With hope, Christian knew where he was
going and for what purpose once there, because she certainly had no clue to why
they were headed toward the deep unknown. Yet she trusted this man as no other.
She would trust him with her life.

“I want to show you something,” he said.

“And you can’t show me this when we’re
in better light?”

“No. You need to see this now,” he
determined.

He physically dragged her across the
back yard. They had to step over and duck under deep underbrush and scattered
limbs on the outskirts of the woods to gain entrance to a stone path. Once
nearly one hundred yards into thick bramble woods, Christian looked to have found
what would lead him and her toward a place he had in mind. They walked this second
path until it came upon a small stream.

Sara never even knew Preacher’s Bend had
such a small stream. The town was named after a crook in the river, where two
hundred years ago an old Preacher lived. Nevertheless, the flowing water was
there, dead center in the middle of Reverend Mohr’s back yard.

On the opposite side of the stream was a
headstone made out of dark marble. A little wooden bridge crossed the stream to
an angel statuette looked to be guiding the remaining way.

One could be buried anywhere as long as
record of its location kept at the courthouse and clearly marked as a gravesite,
but Sara hadn’t put thought there’d be a grave in this man’s back yard. She had
no idea whose grave it was until she was told to go first over the bridge.

Sara hesitated, yet knew in her heart
nothing bad would happen to her when she with this man. She crossed the bridge,
stood on opposite side of the stream, and waited for Christian to join her.
Once his feet touched her side of the stream he started walking them toward the
headstone.