Showdown by Ted Dekker Page B

black jabbing Cecil in the eyes refused to budge from his mind.
    â€œI’ll call you from Junction.” Sally ruffled his hair and stepped toward the door. “There’s food in the refrigerator. We’re out of milk, maybe you could get some from the store for me.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œWhat did I say?”
    â€œGet milk.”
    She smiled. “Maybe you should do something to occupy your mind—clean your room.”
    â€œCan I come with you?”
    She shook her head. “State regs. I’ll be back tonight, I promise.”
    He nodded.
    â€œAnd you might want to keep the bit about the eyes to yourself.”
    Sally let the screen door slam and ran across the lawn toward the crowd.
    Five minutes later she pulled the red Bronco-turned-ambulance onto Main Street and headed for Junction.
    Johnny sighed and retreated to his room to let his nerves settle.
    But they didn’t settle so quick. Not for an hour. He had to get out.
    â€œI DON’T care what you think, Katie,” Paula Smither said, staring down the California blonde with her best angry eyes. “He’s a man of God, not some sex object.”
    â€œWho said anything about sex? I said he was handsome. There a sin against that?”
    They lounged in Katie’s Nails and Tan, and honestly Paula didn’t know why she subjected herself to Katie’s nonstop crap. Forgive the thought, Reverend.
    She sat in one of the dryer chairs, which was a bit small for her, but Chrissy and Mary had already taken the yellow vinyl guest seats. Katie was pouring a cup of coffee by the sales counter. The town’s only official salon was hardly large enough to turn around in, and more gossip than styling went on in it. Most men went to Clipper Dan, the town’s local barber. The women mostly went to Martha or Beatrice, who both cut hair out of their homes. Paula wondered how she’d ended up with this crowd.
    Katie put the coffeepot down and turned. “Were you born this way?”
    â€œMeaning what?” But Paula knew what Katie meant.
    â€œYou live to make everyone else’s life miserable? So what if I think the preacher’s good-looking?”
    â€œGood-looking? I think the word you used was hot .”
    â€œOkay, hot then. You didn’t think he’s hot?”
    â€œOf course not. He’s a preacher , for heaven’s sake!”
    â€œHe’s a man. Preacher or circus clown, he’s a man.” Katie faced Chrissy and Mary. “He was hot, trust me.”
    Chrissy grinned. “Just what we need around here. A hot preacher.”
    â€œFire and brimstone,”Mary said. “You ever date a preacher?”
    â€œNot yet,” Katie said with a wink.
    Katie was digging for a comeback. Paula refused. This was their regular nonsense, and Katie’s latest cutting remark stuck in Paula’s mind. Born to make everyone else’s life miserable?
    Not everyone, Katie, just you. Only those who need it .
    At least that’s what Paula tried to tell herself. But was that how the others saw her? The goody-goody who walked around making everyone else’s life miserable? The ugly, fat prude who compensated for her own failures by making sure others were fully aware of theirs?
    Was there truth to that?
    â€œThink about it,” Katie was saying. “Cecil kicked the bucket this afternoon, and people are more interested in Chris’s wart. What does that tell you? You watch, that church will be packed tonight. And they won’t be there for Cecil’s funeral.”
    â€œHello, ladies.”
    Paula hadn’t heard the door open. There in the frame stood Marsuvees Black, long black trench coat sucked back by the wind.
    They stared as one.
    He tipped his Stetson hat. “Lovely afternoon.”He grinned. “God is merciful and kind and full of hope and grace. Putting four such lovely women on this earth is all the evidence I need.”
    Katie smiled.