2

Janie

I'm almost running as I leave the co-op. When I realize how ridiculous I probably look, I stop, huffing and puffing, and slow my pace down to a brisk walk. Did that really just happen? I ask myself. How had I never heard of Carter Grant before? How have I never met him?

I’m squeezing the bag holding the nails in my hand, and I swing it back and forth the whole way down Main Street toward the church. I pass Red’s Diner and keep checking over my shoulder, waiting on the big, muscled man with the dark look-into-my-soul eyes to be behind me, but I don’t see him. It’s probably just as well. He’s definitely more man than I would know what to do with. He’s older, obviously more experienced. Dang, just the way he talks caused tremors in my body.

I keep walking, nodding my head when I see people I know. I don’t know what to think, and I have a disagreement with myself the whole way to the church. He wasn’t flirting with me... and then just remembering how he grabbed my hand and ran his rough finger over mine, well, my heart is still thumping wildly in my chest. He asked if I had a man as if he was ready to possess me right then and there.

I run up the steps of the church and through the front doors. I don’t realize anyone is in the chapel until I hear my father’s booming voice as he laughs. “No running in the church.”

I stop and try to catch my breath as I turn, pasting a smile on my face. “I think I’ve heard that around a thousand times.”

My father watches me and walks over to me. “What’s wrong, Janie? Why are you flushed? Are you coming down with something?”

I can feel heat rush up my chest all the way to my head. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, Janie. I try to look at him, but my eyes wander. My dad has always been able to know when I was up to something. Usually it’s not been a big deal; probably the worst was when I was sixteen and Bobby Gilliams kissed me behind the church. I felt so guilty, I ended up confessing it all to my father. But this... gosh, there’s no way I can tell him about this. Carter didn’t even kiss me, but the way he made me feel just standing next to him, no I’m not going to talk to my dad about that. “No, Dad. It’s hot outside, and I walked all the way from the co-op. I had to get nails.” I hold up the bag for him to see.

He eyes me peculiarly. He knows something is up. Mostly because he’s good at his job. He can read people and always wants to offer his help. But I can’t ask him for help on this.

“Do you need help hanging the pictures?”

“Uh, sure, that’d be great!”

He follows behind me and into the back where the dining hall and offices are. I pick up the hammer and hand it to him. He laughs good naturedly. “So that’s how it is. I offer to help, and I do all the work.”

I put my hand on my hip. “Don’t even play, Dad. I know as soon as I lift up the hammer or try to hang the picture you’re going to take over anyway. You know I can hang a picture, right?”

He goes about opening the nails and hammering one in while I show him where I want it. “I know you can. I taught you how. But while I’m around, there’s no reason for you to do it.”

I take the hammer as he picks up the heavy frame and hooks it on the wall. I’m fortunate in a lot of ways, I know I am. My father is great and has always been here for me. When my mom passed away when I was fifteen, my whole world changed. I was devastated. My father made it bearable, though.

He stands back and looks at the picture before straightening it a little. When he seems to think it’s okay, he turns to me. “Okay, so what do you think? Good?”

I nod. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, two more.”

He works on the next two, and since my job is pretty mindless, just handing him nails and the hammer, I seem to get lost in thought. I couldn’t stop thinking of Carter even if I tried. There are so many things I want to know about him. I wonder if my dad knows him, I wonder how old he is and where he works. I’m guessing he’s a rancher. All of it would be easy to find out; I could literally ask anyone in Whiskey Run, but as soon as I do, it will be all over town that the innocent preacher’s daughter is interested in him, and let’s face it, he’s way out of my league. I sigh, somehow wishing I was different.

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