Hard Charger: Jake & Sophia: A Hot Contemporary Romance by Tracy Fobes Page A

a helluva lot of muscle.  The act of doing something with his hands, of creating, felt very satisfying to him.  By the end of the day, he always had something tangible to show for his effort.  He became so involved in measuring the locations of anchors, placing straps and tie downs, and doing beam work that he didn’t even notice lunch had arrived.  Only the cessation of sawing and hammering alerted him to the fact that the rest of the crew had paused to eat.
    He stretched, then climbed down the ladder from the second floor.  He saw a few guys eating lunch on the steps of Holy Trinity.  Father Al was there too, chatting with them.  He grabbed his lunch and headed over to the priest, who he’d seen nearly every day since he’d started work on the rectory.
    Father Al’s weathered face broke out into a smile the moment he noticed Jake.
    “Hi, Father.”
    Father Al sat down on the top step.  Jake sat next to him and pulled out his sandwich.
    “Ah, a simple bologna sandwich,” the priest observed.  “I miss them.  My doctor told me to lower my sodium.”
    Jake nodded and took a bite.  “I’d rather have a hamburger, myself.”
    Of Irish descent, Father Al was somewhere in his early to mid-sixties, with gray hair brushed back from his forehead and a broad, ruddy face that was accustomed to a smile.  He’d served with the Navy in Vietnam, working as a chaplain; and when he’d left the military, he’d gone straight to the seminary.  He was one of the few men besides Ray that Jake felt he could talk to about his combat experience, and know that the priest understood.
    “It’s good to have you home, Jake,” Father Al remarked, not for the first time.  “Did you know that for hundreds of years, there’s been nothing but war after war in Afghanistan?  They call it the ‘graveyard of empires’--a hopeless place of perpetual conflict.”
    “It was a little like Hell on Earth,” Jake observed.  “But I had Saint Jude to protect me.”
    The priest nodded.  “The patron saint of hopeless causes.”
    Jake pulled out the medal Father Al had given him from beneath his flannel shirt.  He wore it with his dog tags now, although when the priest had first given it to him, he’d worn it alone.  It glinted with silvery light in the sunshine.  “You must have a lifetime supply of these things.  I’ve seen more than one person in town wearing something like it.”  He let it drop against his shirt.
    Father Al smiled.  “I still recall when I gave you yours.  Do you?”
    “How could I forget?  You came down to the police station to bail me out, when my mom refused.”
    “Once a week was enough for her,” the priest added.  “I had to do it the second time around.”
    Jake smiled, but it was bittersweet.  His father had been a drunk and a criminal, a hard-core biker who’d fashioned himself after the one-percenters—a group of outlaws who considered themselves the last truly “free” men in America.  As such, he hadn’t been home much to participate in Jake’s upbringing.   Father Al had stepped into the void his father had left more than once, to provide the support Jake had needed so desperately.  “I don’t remember everything you said to me that day, but I do know that I respected you enough to want to try harder, to be a better person.”
    “You were an angry teenager, but who isn’t?  You turned out all right in the end.”  The priest sighed.  “I remember looking at that medal for a long time, and then looking at you.  And telling you that every single parishioner in my church gives me cause to believe they could use Saint Jude’s help, but none more so than you.”
    “To this day, I’m amazed at the patience you had in dealing with me,” Jake admitted.
    Father Al laughed.  “You weren’t that bad.”
    “You still giving them out?”
    “More so than ever.”  The priest made an expansive gesture with his hands.  “If I could give one to the town itself, I