Jesus.
He turned and moved toward the altar, resting both hands on the sawhorse beside it. His shoulders hunched, heavy with grief.
“Have you talked to the cops yet?” I asked. “I mean…this seems serious.”
Silas shook his head, not looking at me. “Her case was closed years ago, and June—it sounds absurd, doesn’t it? I don’t think a snake can be a murder weapon.”
“Doesn’t matter if it sounds absurd,” I said, stepping up beside him. “You think it’s possible. I think it’s possible. And if we’re both thinking it…maybe it’s time someone else took it seriously.”
He didn’t answer, just stared down at the sawhorse like he could will it to make sense. I reached out and brushed my fingers across his knuckles.
“We should go to the sheriff,” I said. “Even if it’s just to let them know the Trents might mean us harm.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’re smiling,” I said. “This…doesn’t feel like a smiling situation.”
“Not about the Trents,” he said. “About there being an us.”
I arched an eyebrow, catching that flicker of something behind his eyes. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Ward.”
He gave a low laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I leaned a little closer, our shoulders brushing. “We should still tell someone. The Trents aren’t just weird—they’re dangerous. You said it yourself. And if Abel’s the one who planted that snake…”
“Yeah,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Then he’s not just sending a message. He’s escalating.”
“So we escalate too,” I said, my voice firmer now. “Go to the sheriff. Hell, go to Mabel. She may not wear a badge, but she sure as shit controls the town’s gossip supply chain.”
That got a real smile out of him. “You want to weaponize Mabel?”
“It might surprise you, but they teach us how to weaponize gossipy ladies at seminary.” I shrugged. “I want to let the most powerful woman in Willow Grove do what she does best: over-sweeten the tea and then spill it all over town.”
“She’s gonna tell everybody,” Silas warned.
“Good,” I said. “Let the whole town hear it. Let them know the Trents might be dangerous. Let the old guard whisper about how this isn’t just weirdness—it’s a threat. If Abel wants to play at spiritual warfare, then fine. Let’s give him something to be afraid of.”
He didn’t say anything at first—just stepped in close, close enough that I could smell cedar oil and sawdust and something else that was just him. His hand hovered near my hip like he was waiting for permission.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
He looked down at me, jaw tight, voice low. “You've gotta stop talking like that, Reverend.”
I was aiming for confidence, but my voice came out breathy. “Like what?”
“Like some kinda…I don't know,” he said, and his hand came up to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger. “You're fearless. And it's the sexiest damn thing I've ever seen.”
My tongue darted out to wet my lips, and I watched as Silas traced every motion. “So are you gonna do something about it?”
Silas hummed, a low rumble in his chest. “Thought we were goin’ slow.”
I raised my hand to trail up his arm. “So I guess you should kiss me slow.”
His eyes searched mine for a moment, searching for any sign I was just appeasing him—but all he found was pure lust. This was what I wanted: him, all of him, even if it was a little slower than we’d originally intended.
Because this desire was sacred…and whatever I had with Silas Ward was holy.
His hand came around to cup the back of my neck, not closing his eyes until the last minute—until mine were already fluttering shut, my lips parting in anticipation of his kiss. Then his mouth met mine, soft and warm and perfect, the scruff of his beard brushing against my skin. He wasn’t rushing, no…this was the deep, aching press of a man who knew what restraint cost and was willing to pay it for the sake of something that might finally last.
