Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

Everything.

It’s just a trick of the light, Cynth. He’s just a grizzled biker with nice eyes. He’s just a fill-in. He’ll be gone soon. Remember that.

“What?” I snapped, then immediately felt like a shrew. I fired up my ancient computer and logged in so I could finish catching up on the emails I’d started that morning before yoga. I got here early and I started strong. Sometimes, I did my homework here too. Otherwise, when would I do it?

Technically, I was only part-time on the books, although I put in way more than forty hours a week, so I didn’t feel bad about using the dinged-up old computer to do schoolwork on. If nothing else, the internet here was way faster than my boosted Wi-Fi at home.

“Just wondering if you had another list for me,” he said with a chuckle. “But I can wait.” He turned around and went back to his desk. I deliberately didn’t look at him. I heard a thud and saw him put his big boots on the desk with a thud. The man had no manners at all!

He started shuffling through the papers on the desk. I stood up and stared at him, horrified.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure there isn’t anything that can’t wait for Paul.”

“Reverend Paul will be back in a few weeks! I can handle anything that comes up before then.”

“Did you look through his mail already? These look like bills,” he added, holding up a couple of envelopes.

I huffed and stomped into the room, snatching them from his fingers. His eyes lit up as he watched me. I tossed my hair, feeling annoyed at his warm regard. Did the man have to look at me like I was a juicy steak?

They were bills. A lot of them. I frowned.

“Where did you find these?”

“The drawer.”

“You shouldn’t be looking in the Reverend’s drawers,” I said to cover my surprise.

He sighed and leaned back.

“You must know that Paul doesn’t think he’s coming back.”

I stared at him in shock.

“What?”

“He wants me to take over. For real.”

My jaw dropped. Preacher here . . . for good? No more Reverend Paul? It was unthinkable.

“Trust me, I don’t like it either. I like my life just the way it is. And a world without Paul . . . that would be a much darker place.”

He meant it. I felt it in my gut. If nothing else, he loved Paul. Preacher had a way with words, surprisingly.

“He’s coming back,” I said tightly.

Preacher said nothing, just looked at me in that unnerving way of his. Doing that X-ray vision thing again. I felt naked and exposed. Like he could somehow see my fears about Paul. My hopes and dreams for my future. Every stupid lie I told myself to get through the day. He saw all of it. He saw all of me. I knew it. I felt it all the way to my bones.

He nodded slowly.

“All right.”

And just like that, he made everything okay. He was going to play along. He was going to let me believe that Paul was coming back.

I nearly sagged in relief.

The lie felt less lonely with two of us sharing it.

“These are old . . .” I said, looking through the bills. “I think these are medical expenses.”

“Let me.” He held out his hand for the envelopes. When I hesitated, he added, “Paul is a brother to me. I don’t cast judgement. I just want to help.”

I nodded and handed over the bills. I watched nervously as Preacher opened them one by one, his eyes getting darker with each bill. He cursed softly and closed his eyes.

“Dammit, Paul . . .”

“What is it?”

“He’s been sick a lot longer than we thought. These bills . . . they’re catastrophic.”

“But he has insurance. He must.”

“I guess a lot of this stuff isn’t covered.”

He shook his head and looked at me with a sad look in his beautiful blue eyes.

“No wonder he felt he had to go to Mexico for treatment.”

“Mexico? I thought he was going to Switzerland.”

Preacher let out a curse so salty that it turned my cheeks pink. The chair squeaked as he pushed away from the desk and started pacing. I stared at his long legs. The man was ridiculously well-built once you got past the tattoos and leather.

“What is it?” I squeaked out.

Preached stopped and looked at me.

“He lied to us.”

“Reverend Paul? He would never tell a lie!”

Preacher started laughing.

“What could possibly be funny about that?” I asked indignantly.

“I’m sure he would consider it a white lie.”

“But why?”

“Because,” he said, raking his hands through his salt and pepper hair. “That old dog doesn’t want to be found.”

Preacher cocked an eyebrow over those unfairly pretty eyes of his. He had lashes like a girl, I noticed distractedly.

“Dog? That’s insulting to a man like Paul,” I said, making it clear that the present company wasn’t included in that statement.