And, shecouldsay she hadn’t thought about his smooth cheeks, wavy hair, and darn nice backside.
But if she said any of those things, she’d be lying.
She didn’t like to lie, so she didn’t say anything at all. If Maddie brought up Dustin, Clover quickly changed the subject.
What disturbed her about the whole situation was how it pushed her from a companionable, sweet person to an individual with less-than-Christian thoughts toward another person. She’d worked hard to shed the outer shell she’d put on to survive growing up, and here she was throwing on armor and thinking things that Moses wouldn’t approve of. Not that she hated Dustin. Hate was such a fierce word, and she could overcome the sense of dislike if she never had to see him face-to-face again.
The most unsettling feelings she had were in line with Moses’ number ten sin of coveting people you shouldn’t covet. Dustin had this magnetism that pulled her thoughts in directions they shouldn’t travel. Pastor Paul wouldn’t commend her for her desires if he counted wondering what Dustin’s smooth cheek would feel like against her cheek lusting. Which she was pretty sure he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. If she ever told a pastor about those things. Thank heavens she wasn’t Catholic! Her face burned with embarrassment at the idea of tellingMaddiewhere she spent most of her daydreams; confessing her longings to Pastor Paul was unthinkable.
The reason her un-Christian-like thoughts bothered her enough to disturb her sleep and distract her mind was that she firmly believed that what you put out into the world came back to you. Her mother had been a free spirit—Okay, she was a gypsy.Free spiritwas less judgy, and her mom had been all about no judgment, but there was no denying the gypsy blood in her veins.
She’d carted Clover from one end of the country to the other, hitting the lower states in the winter because they often slept outside. School wasn’t an issue. Rainbow—yes, her mother’s name was Rainbow—taught Clover to read and write and do basic math. They didn’t have a lot of books, but they spent time in libraries because they were climate controlled and entertaining.
When Clover was eighteen, Rainbow had flapped her hands like wings and told her daughter it was her time to fly. The next morning, Rainbow Journey was gone, and Clover was on her own. If it hadn’t been for Pastor Paul and his wife who started the soup kitchen, Clover would be the one asking for a free meal instead of the one prepping for them.
The official name of the charity was The Pantry. Clover had wandered in, hungry and abandoned, and she’d received a meal and a word of encouragement. Over time, Pastor Paul and Jane Stana took her in and helped her get her GED.
She was the only part-time employee on staff. The Pantry survived on government subsidies and donations. Jane worked as the manager, allowing Paul time to shepherd a congregation. Jane often checked with the local elementary schools and invited children and their families on the free lunch program to the shelter on the weekends. That made Saturdays and Sundays extra busy, but no one seemed to mind.
Today was a Wednesday, one of the slower days of the week. Because it was slow, Clover liked to bring in a couple loaves of bread and some peanut butter and jelly and make sandwiches for the little ones to take with them. She hated the idea of a child going hungry, because she remembered well the raw ache and lethargy that had plagued her childhood. Thanks to Dustin’s stunt at the club, the feelings were fresh, and her heart was extra tender.
She juggled the grocery bags as she reached for the door, the bread bags poking out the top and blocking her view.
“Here, let me help you with that,” said a deep voice. The baritone triggered a womanly instinct, making her want to reply in a sultry Southern accent and bat her eyelashes.
She hid behind the grocery bags and said, “Thanks.”
The door whooshed open, the cool air sending goose bumps over her skin. Her rescuer took two bags out of her arms, allowing her to see clearly.
Her mouth fell open, and she snapped it shut. Dustin Colt stood there, looking like the cat who caught the canary. Had her hands been free, she would have yanked the grocery bags right out of his arms.
Dustin didn’t look at all upset to be face-to-face again. He should be—he should be quaking in his pristine running shoes after the way he’d treated her. Throwing money around like it was chalk dust and walking away before hearing her out was just plain rude.
Well, she was no songbird, and she wasn’t about to chirp a merry little tune for Mr. Big Shot. “Come for your free meal?” she nettled him. It wasn’t quite the jab she’d thought up the other night, but it would work. A sense of vindication filled her. She’d managed to keep her wits even though his glorious green eyes warmed her insides like fondue.
He beamed. “I’m not here to eat. I’m volunteering.”
She glided around him. “I’m happy to see the essentials bag worked in some way.”
His smile dropped. “I’m not here because ofyou.”
Pleased that she’d broken through his smugness, she smiled. “Good, because I don’t have time to hold your hand.”
“Youwishyou could hold my hand.” His cocky grin was back in place.
“Not even a little bit,” she shot right back.
Jane appeared, her short black hair doing a funky swoop up off her forehead. “Oh, good, you’re both here. Clover, meet Dustin Colt, shortstop for the Redrocks. Dustin, this is Clover.” Jane practically burst out of her skin with excitement.
Clover gave her a tight smile and a small nod to acknowledge the introduction.
“The Redrocks have organized a community outreach program, and Dustin specifically asked to work here.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Clover shot Dustin a smug look of her own. Didn’t come here because of her—ha! He was so busted.
He lifted one eyebrow in response, like a smolder. She’d known few men who could pull off an effective smolder—most of them looked like they’d stepped in doggie doo doo. Not Dustin. He was all bedroom eyes and scrumptiousness.
Jane sighed like a schoolgirl.
