Arizona Pastor by Jennifer Collins Johnson Page A

extended his hand. She shook it, but when he held her grip for a moment longer than necessary, Kristy pulled back. “How may I help you, Mr. Earlywood?”
    â€œCall me Curt.” He chuckled, but the sound came out more like a snort than a laugh. “My buddy took your class last semester. He said you were pretty hot.”
    Kristy raised her eyebrows and glared at him. “Excuse me?”
    â€œI mean, he said you were pretty. And he said you were a really nice lady. And…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “I wondered if I could treat you to lunch.”
    Kristy’s initial anger simmered as she realized the boy must not have intended to sound disrespectful. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to decline.”
    â€œHow come? It’s not as though we’re not adults.”
    Kristy blinked at the immature response. With a firm word and a narrow gaze, she would have reprimanded any other young man, but Curt seemed truly hurt by her refusal. She folded her hands together. “It would be highly inappropriate for me to go on a date with one of my students. Additionally, I’m much older than you realize.”
    He sneered. “I know lots of professors who go out with students.”
    She shook her head. “Not this one.”
    He released an exaggerated sigh, then shrugged. “Well, okay. It was worth a try.”
    She bit back a grin and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    He turned to leave, then stepped back through the door. “Just out of curiosity, what are you? Like twenty-six?”
    â€œTry adding a decade to that number.”
    Curt’s eyes widened, and he left in a hurry. Kristy shook her head. Not only was Mel unprepared for mothering, Kristy was unable to fathom being a grandmother.

Chapter 7
    W ade walked into Marley’s Restaurant and Bar, one of Surprise’s favorite restaurants. He’d been here before for lunch and enjoyed a turkey sandwich. The catfish dinner with fried potatoes and coleslaw had looked so delicious, he’d determined to try the meal for the church’s monthly men’s dinner out.
    He had still been moving into his house during the previous event, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. Chad Whalen, the church’s music minister, had assured him Wade would have no responsibilities. Whoever wasn’t busy came for the meal. They’d fellowship and eat, and then they’d go home.
    Wade spied Chad in the back corner. The youth minister, Greg Rogers, stood beside him. Wade swallowed a chuckle at the visual contrast between the two men. Though only a few years apart in age, Chad looked much older than Greg. Chad’s copper-colored hair was short and styled, his beard full but neatly trimmed. He wore a red polo shirt tucked into a new pair of jeans with a brown leather belt around his waist.
    In contrast, Greg’s black hair had been cut to look messy and even spiked out from various angles. Thick black glasses would have given him a Clark Kent appearance if not for his ultrasmall frame, which he’d covered with a hipster T-shirt and skinny jeans. When Wade had first seen Greg, he’d instantly stereotyped him to be a semi-Gothic, probable junkie. Until Wade heard him talk about Christ. Greg was sold to the Lord, 100 percent, and his unthreatening appearance and zeal for God drew in the teenagers of the community.
    Wade shook Chad’s hand, then Greg’s. “Hey, guys. Just the three of us?”
    Chad motioned to the rest area. “Freddy’ll be right back.”
    Greg pointed to the door. “Here comes Ron.”
    Ron Rice, one of the older deacons of the church, grabbed Wade’s hand in a death grip of a handshake. “Evening, Reverend Wade.”
    â€œPlease. Just call me Wade.”
    Ron teased, “Take some getting used to if I call my minister just by his first name.”
    â€œTimes are