Mad Dog pushed his plate away. "No church for me, thanks. "
"It isnt what you expect," Rass said quickly.
He looked at the old man. "How do you know what I expect?"
Mariah laughed and stood up. "It isnt what anyone expects. "
He was stunned by the sound of her laughter. It was so unlike her, soft, musical, and yet throaty. Somehow it conjured images of dark nights and steamy passion.
She frowned at him. "Is something the matter, Mr. Stone? You look rather pale. "
He couldnt believe
hed reacted so strongly to something as innocuous as a laugh.
"Nothins wrong. "
She started to turn away, wanted, he thought, to turn away, but she didnt. She stood there. Their gazes locked. Something passed between them, something . . .
compelling.
Then, abruptly, she turned away from him.
He blinked. The strange connection with Mariah faded so quickly, he wondered if hed imagined it. He tried to remember what theyd been talking about.
Oh, yeah. Church.
He glanced at Rass. "Sorry, Rass. I try not to be a hypocrite. "
Rass frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"I dont believe in God. "
"I suppose you believe in the devil?"
Mad Dog laughed. "Him, Ive seen proof of. "
"What if I could show you God?"
Mad Dog felt a grin start. "He lives here, does he? In Lonesome Creek?"
Rass nodded seriously. "Of course he does. You could just come and see-----That wouldnt be hypocritical. "
He shrugged. What the hell. At least hed get to be with Mariah—maybe even see her smile. "Okay, Professor. Lets go find God. "
"Is that what youre wearing to church?" Mad Dog asked Mariah as she came down the stairs an hour later. She gave him a cold look. "Whats wrong with it?" His gaze swept her from head to foot. She was standing perfectly erect, her small, gloved hands properly pinned to her midsection. An austere stand-up collar, unrelieved by lace or adornment, hugged her pale throat. Dozens of round black buttons—the only color other than dirt brown on the entire dress—marched from her absurdly high collar to her narrow, belted waist. Pointed brown boots peeked out from beneath the plain hem. Her hair was drawn back from her head so tightly, he wondered if it was nailed in back.
He brought his gaze slowly back up her body and looked into her eyes. "Nice dress," he said blandly.
She gave him a delicate sniff and walked out the door.
He was certain that she wanted to slam it behind her, but she didnt.
Plunging his hands in his pockets, he idly strolled out of the kitchen and followed her onto the porch.
Rass was standing in front of the house, holding a bunch of vibrant purple flowers.
He looked . . . younger, as if the prospect of going to church erased a dozen years from his face. Gaiety lit his watery eyes with brilliant blue light. "Are you ready, Mad Dog? Mariah?"