The Trouble With Angels Page 0,7

clay along with his wife's casket.

"God bless you, Reverend," Bernard said softly, the once strong voice shaking with emotion, reminding Paul that cancer rarely claimed one victim.

"I'll be by later this afternoon," Paul promised.

He replaced the telephone receiver and buried his face in his hands. He was tired. The last time he'd taken time away had been...He paused, needing to think about it. Longer than it should have been, he decided. Steve had a good idea. Getting away for a couple of days held a lot of appeal.

Maybe when Joe arrived the two of them could take some time and go hiking. It would do Paul a world of good to escape the pressures of the church. That was all he really needed. Time away. Away from the stress and strain of the church. Away from the demands of the many who looked to him for answers when he had none to give.

Not anymore.

"Paul's special man," Gabriel said, joining Goodness.

"He's warm and generous and loving," Goodness agreed.

"But..."

"But he's under a lot of pressure at the moment," the prayer ambassador surmised. "It seems to me his secretary is a bit more bossy than she needs to be."

"Perhaps," Gabriel agreed. His hands were linked behind his back, and he paced in front of Goodness like a drill sergeant with a raw recruit.

She had the feeling these questions were a test of some kind. Whether she received this assignment to earth or not depended on her answers.

"His friend doesn't seem to be much of a friend, either."

Gabriel's gaze narrowed on her. "How do you mean?"

"Well, it seems to me that a real friend would be willing to listen to Paul instead of making sweeping assumptions about his well-being."

Gabriel nodded several times. "Someone must realize all isn't right, otherwise there wouldn't be so many people praying for Paul Morris."

"Well." Goodness rubbed her palms back and forth several times. Her career as a prayer ambassador might rest on her response. "The trouble with Reverend Morris is much worse than most anyone suspects."

"Is that right?"

Goodness nodded, her movements emphatic. "People think he misses his wife."

"And he doesn't?" Gabriel's bushy eyebrows reached all the way to his hairline.

"Of course he does, but his troubles are much more complex than that. I'm afraid Reverend Paul Morris is one of the most desperate cases I've seen."

"Desperate?" Gabriel repeated.

"Yes." Goodness was less confident than earlier.

"What ails this man isn't going to be fixed by a voice through a television screen."

Goodness felt her pale cheeks fill with color. Yet she knew what the archangel said was true. "Why, that would be utterly..."

"Ridiculous," Gabriel supplied.

"It could work, but then I'd never attempt anything like that again," she said just to be on the safe side.

"What exactly is the problem with Reverend Morris?" Gabriel asked her outright.

Goodness blinked, surprised by his abruptness. "I thought you knew."

"You tell me."

"Paul Morris is infected with the most demanding of human maladies," Goodness murmured, saddened to speak the words aloud. "The dear man's deeply discouraged. He doesn't believe God heard his prayers, and now he wonders if He ever did."

Gabriel patted her shoulder gently. "You've judged his condition accurately."

Goodness brightened. "Does this mean I can work on this prayer request?"

Gabriel hesitated. "You said yourself that this was the most demanding of human troubles."

"Yes, but..."

"Unfortunately you lack the experience."

"But I can help him, I know I can," Goodness insisted.

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I haven't figured that out yet, but I'll think of something. I always do."

Gabriel frowned.

"Without tricks," she promised, folding her hands as if she were praying. She looked up at him with large, pleading blue eyes.

"I've heard that line before."

"This time I mean it."

"What about all those other times?" Gabriel pressed.

Goodness always meant to keep her promises. "This is different," she vowed.

"Answer me this," Gabriel said, ushering them both back to where Mercy sat waiting. When they appeared, Mercy, the third prayer ambassador, leaped to her feet as if she'd been sitting on a mattress spring.

"Yes?" Goodness said, following on Gabriel's heels.

"How did you know about Paul Morris?"

"Ah..." Goodness and Mercy exchanged knowing looks.

"She said his name jumped right off the page," Mercy supplied when Goodness's answer wasn't immediately forthcoming.

Gabriel ceased pacing. "Overruled again," he mumbled under his breath.

"What did he say?" Mercy whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Something about being overdone."

"Overruled," Gabriel barked. His hands were clasped behind his back once more, and he didn't seem any too pleased.

"Is something wrong?" Again it was Mercy, curious to learn what she