apologize that easy," he said, "you're not gonna be much fun to pick on."
Annabelle returned to tell them that she and Jack were up to date and Cat thought she looked damn good, considering. A little pale, a little shook up, but overall just fine.
Maybe it was better to do it drunk.
And then again, he reminded himself, she's already cried for all of them once.
Jack was sleeping comfortably, she informed them, and would continue to do so for another forty-three minutes on the nose.
Aha! thought Cat. So it took you seventeen minutes to get yourself together before coming back in to see us. Still damned good, Annie.
And he gave her a little mental pat.
But he was still worried about Jack.
"Is he all right?" Cat asked gently.
She looked at him, surprised. Then she smiled reassuringly. "You heard him, Cherry."
He considered, thought back. "So I did," he replied and smiled himself.
"Who's that?" asked Adam, gazing past them out the leaded-glass window.
They all turned to look. A young lady with light blond hair and rumpled clothing was walking rather stiffly up the walkway to the front door. She was trying, all at the same time, to smooth out her dress, check her makeup in a hand mirror, and feel her teeth with her tongue to see if they were clean enough.
"Aha," announced Carl, lifting his glass. "The press has arrived."
"The reporter?" Adam asked nervously.
"Yep," Cat told him. "Looks like she spent the night in her car waiting for us. Or part of the afternoon anyway."
"Bless her heart," mused Annabelle. "She must want this awfully bad." She looked at Adam. "Relax, dear. We just won't tell her you're a priest."
"Naw," offered Carl. "She'll find out if she's any good at all. Better just make her keep that part tied down. Off the record or whatever it is they call it."
"And if she doesn't?" Adam wanted to know.
Cat grinned. "Our father's met the press before, sounds like."
"Oh, I think she will," said Annabelle.
"But what if she doesn't?" insisted Adam.
"Then," snarled Carl, "we'll knit her tits together." He drained his glass. "Behind her back. Somebody wanna answer the door?"
Somebody did. Cat fetched her to the bar and offered her a drink. She declined, looking nervous and flustered and...
And incredibly beautiful, Adam realized. Incredibly beautiful and incredibly vulnerable and something else, too, as Cat had said. Imperial. Regal. As though touching her was possible but a horrible sin.
It was very strange. Adam saw her no more sexually than any other priest but her aura was still unmistakable.
My Lord, he thought to himself, what a reporter she's going to make! People would tell her anything.
He rose from his stool to be introduced. Annabelle called him simply Adam Larrance. Her hand was cool and her eyes warm and friendly but also penetrating and assertive. Adam wondered how she learned so much so young.
There was an awkward pause after they met until Annabelle patted the stool next to her and she took it. Adam, feeling unreasonably at sea, nudged Carl Joplin beside him.
Carl glanced at him, read his unease, felt it necessary to provide a little in-character show of tedium, and then proceeded to explain to the girl what Adam was and what it meant and what she could write about it - which was zero.
He did not mention her tits.
He didn't need to. One glance around her and Davette saw they meant it. They were polite and friendly and they liked her (she felt sure of that) but they were also quite firm. Don't write about the priest. She tried comforting herself with the thought that she had never meant to. But there was no way around the fact that it changed things that these people had their very own priest with them.
These people! she thought and sighed. She had never seen any group like them. They had a glow of health about them that seemed to radiate for ten yards in every direction. Not physical health particularly, though all save round Carl seemed fit enough. And not really mental health or so much emotional...
Soulful health. Is there such a term? she wondered idly. For that's what they seem to have. Soulful health.
She rather supposed thinking yourself a crusader for Right versus Wrong would do that to you.
"Is Mr. Crow in?" she asked Cat. Cat was caught napping.
"Huh?"
"Is Mr. Crow in?" she repeated, smiling.
"He'll be down soon."
They talked about Dallas. They were moving there, and Davette lived there. She had come all this way across the country just to