"Have a seat." Tim gestured to the chair. Mike sat, and Tim crossed the room and collapsed into his office chair. The big desk gave him separation as his emotions battled with his rational mind.

It would be wise to be suspicious. "I have no recollection of ever having lived anywhere other than Atlanta with my mother and father."

"I'm not surprised. You were barely three when Daddy left."

"Daddy?"

"That's what I called him," Mike said, meeting Tim's gaze in a way that suggested he wasn't lying. "I didn't understand that he wasn't my biological father until I turned ten. I always expected him to come back for me."

The words. .h.i.t Tim right in the solar plexus. But they didn't seem to affect Mike. He showed no emotion as he spoke. And that sent up a bunch of alarms. He didn't trust this man.

"Well," Tim said, "I empathize with your situation. But I need to be clear. I'm not going to allow you to abandon a child on my doorstep. It would be wrong. And it would be illegal."

"But-"

He held up his hand, and Mike stopped speaking. "Do you have legal custody of Rainbow?"

"I do. But, Timmy, you don't understand. She needs help. She hasn't said a word since she saw her mother murdered. And I'm not the right guy to help her."

Timmy? No one had ever called him that, had they? "I'm going to have to check out your story. In the meantime, we'll need to handle this sensitively and legally."

"Look, I need to get back to Vegas. There's a big poker tournament coming up. And before you judge what I do, I want you to know that I make a good living playing cards. So I have no intention of skipping out on Rainbow financially. I promise I'll put a part of my winnings in trust for her."

Anger flared. "I don't care about your time or your money, Mr. Taggart. I care about the child you just hauled in here. I care that you stood there and told her that you didn't want her. I care that you're ready to abandon her right here without even consulting any legal authorities or without determining if I would make an acceptable guardian."

"You owe me one. And of course you're acceptable. You're a frigging priest."

Tim ignored Mike's colorful language. "I owe you nothing."

"Yeah, you do. You got the nice life. I got left behind. And Angie got dead."

"Angie?"

"Our half-sister. Rainbow's mom." Mike's voice rose, and his shoulders tensed. It was somewhat rea.s.suring to see his emotional control slip. The man's pain seemed genuine. And if his story was true, then Tim could understand that pain.

If his story was true. Tim could not imagine his father abandoning a child. But if Dad had abandoned Mike, then maybe Tim did owe him something.

Not payback, precisely. But something much better. He owed him love. The love that had been denied both of them. Brotherly love. The moment this thought crossed his mind Tim knew it was right. It was almost as if the Lord had asked him if he were willing to be his brother's keeper. And he knew his answer needed to be better than Cain's.

Tim leaned over his desk. "Mike, I believe the Lord brought you and Rainbow here for a purpose."

"I'm happy you feel that way, but I'm not a believer."

"I'm not surprised."

"So where does that leave us?"

Tim made a quick decision and prayed that the Lord would bless it. "You'll need to stay here in Allenberg County for a little while until I can verify your story. During this time, Rainbow will have to stay in your care, since you are currently her legal guardian. But I'll help you. I know a good child psychiatrist over in Allenberg, and we'll set up an appointment for Rainbow and get the therapist's advice on what should be done. How old is Rainbow? Five? Six?"

"Five."

"If you can't afford to pay for counseling-"

"I can cover her expenses. That's not the problem." Mike paused for a moment and looked down at his hands. "It's my lifestyle that's the problem. She doesn't belong in Vegas with a professional gambler."

"You're probably right about that. But you can't just leave her on the church's doorstep like a foundling child."

Mike leveled his gaze on Tim, his face once again expressionless. "I'm not here to abandon her. I want her to have a good life."

"Then you'll stay with her for a little while until your story can be verified. And if your story checks out, and if Rainbow and I are okay with it, then we'll make the proper legal arrangements."

Mike's gaze shifted to the floor at his feet. "Okay," he said after a long silence, "I guess that makes sense. Maybe we can reconnect. There was a time when you used to follow me around wherever I went."

The notion that he'd had a big brother left Tim hollow inside, as if some essential piece of himself had been torn away.

"So, you got room for us in the parish house?" Mike asked.

A frisson of doubt slammed into Tim. Was he willing to let this stranger into his house? No. The Bible was pretty explicit about how strangers should be welcomed, but he wasn't that brave. Or that stupid.

This man might not be telling the truth.

Tim must have telegraphed his confusion in some way because, before he could respond, Mike spoke again. "Uh, look, I was only kidding. I don't expect you to take us in until you can verify my story. I can see where you might think I was trying to pull something over on you. So if I'm going to stay for a little while, I'll need to find a hotel room. Got any suggestions?"

Relief washed through Tim.

"No, we don't really have any hotels, since the Peach Blossom Motor Court burned down last winter," Tim said. "But I think I can arrange something better. Martha Spalding, one of my parishioners, has just moved to Tampa on a temporary basis to look after her sister, who's battling cancer. She's been looking to sublease her condo over at the Edisto Pines Apartments. It's fully furnished, and I know she's cat-friendly because she took her cat, Felix, with her down to Florida. You'll need the kitchen if you're taking care of a cat and a child."

"I guess today's my lucky day," Mike said, but the words had the bite of sarcasm.

"Mike, I ought to tell you right up front that, while I'm empathetic to your situation and will do all I can to help, I'm not entirely sure I would make a good parent. I'm not married and I have little experience with children."

Mike gazed at the pair of sneakers on his desk. "With all due respect, padre, you have more experience than I do. I live in Vegas. In a hotel. I play poker for a living. My world is not kid-friendly. And you have a day-care center right down the hall from your office."

Angel Menendez slammed the door of his Jeep and tried to keep his emotions in check. He had just had an unpleasant telephone conversation with Dennis Hayden, the Allenberg County executive.

Despite a letter-writing campaign and personal visits, AARC had failed to convince County Executive Hayden to give up his plan to outsource Allenberg's animal shelter to an adjacent county. The proposal would be brought up at the County Council's June meeting, and Angel feared that Hayden had the votes to approve the plan.

Animal lovers understood exactly what that would mean. One shelter serving two counties would result in more innocent animals being euthanized.

Hayden's refusal to back down meant that the AARC fund-raiser scheduled for the middle of next month-just a week before the council vote-had become more important than ever. AARC needed to raise a lot more money if it hoped to run the county shelter as a private ent.i.ty.

Angel hurried into the Kountry Kitchen cafe where AARC's executive board, consisting of vice chair Wilma Riley, recording secretary Charlene Polk, and treasurer Matt Jasper, had gathered for their weekly planning meeting.

"Ah, our esteemed chair has arrived," Wilma said as Angel slipped into the booth seat. "I guess the Purly Girls' meeting went late this week."

Angel was Simon Wolfe's personal a.s.sistant, and that meant, among other things, chauffeuring Simon's mother, Charlotte, to her various activities. On Tuesday, the charity knitters known as the Purly Girls met at the Knit & St.i.tch, the local yarn shop. Since Angel loved knitting, taking Charlotte to her meetings didn't bother him.

"No," he said. "I was detained by a phone call from Dennis Hayden. I am sorry to say that he is not backing down from the outsourcing proposal."

Angel's committee registered their disappointment just as Flo came by. "Y'all ordering the blue-plate tonight?" she asked.

Everyone nodded. Angel wondered why Flo felt it necessary to actually take orders on Fried Chicken Tuesday. No one ever ordered anything else.

Once the waitress departed, Angel spoke again. "All right, let us get to work. I think you all know that we have a big problem with the fund-raiser."

"I could have predicted that," Matt said, rolling his eyes. Matt had been the only dissenting vote when the committee formally agreed to host an auction two months ago. Matt had not objected to the silent auction, but he had complained about the main event of the night-a bachelor auction.

"I wonder if this is perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy," Angel said. "I have heard that Ross Gardiner has been discouraging members of the volunteer fire department from partic.i.p.ating. Matt, we were counting on you to convince Chief Gardiner of the importance of this event." Matt was a deputy sheriff with Allenberg County, in charge of the tiny K-9 department, which consisted of him and his dog Rex, who never left Matt's side. Right now the big German shepherd relaxed in the corner by the booth, dozing lightly with his muzzle between his front paws. Matt also volunteered with the fire department.

Matt's face colored. "Angel, I'm sorry, but you don't get it. You should have heard what Ross said when he found out that the bachelors had to dress up in tuxedos and prance around onstage."

"What did he say?"

"It's not fit to repeat with ladies present."

"We could make the party less formal," Wilma said. "How about bathing suits?"

Matt groaned.

"I don't think you can judge Ross too harshly," Charlene said. "I mean he's practically engaged to Lucy. So if he partic.i.p.ated, Lucy would be forced to buy him. I think that's one of the problems with this plan, Angel. There aren't that many truly single, unattached men in this town."

"Look, y'all," Wilma said in her take-charge voice. "We need to quit p.u.s.s.yfooting around here. We need guys like Ross Gardiner to partic.i.p.ate. And what about the Canaday boys? And your cousin Drew, Charlene. If we can't get our friends and relatives to do this, we're just pitiful."

"It's not that easy," Matt said. "What man is going to allow himself to be put up for auction? I wouldn't if I were single."

"Really? All those women offering money for your time," Wilma said.

"Yeah. All those women offering money for my time." Matt scowled.

"Listen to me, people," Angel said. "I have spoken with four or five groups who have hosted very successful bachelor auctions. We need to work harder. And with County Executive Hayden refusing to back down, I think people will respond. I have made a list of bachelors that we need to sign up." Angel pa.s.sed around a paper with a list of names.

"Dr. Dave isn't on this list," Charlene said.

Angel's face burned. How had he forgotten to put Dave's name on the list? Probably because he had limited his thinking to heteros.e.xual men. Dave was trying hard to fly under the gaydar, and with some success, probably because he was a member of Calvary Baptist Church-one of the evangelical congregations in Allenberg County. The members of Calvary Baptist had strong views about h.o.m.os.e.xuality.

Which begged the question: Why would a guy like Dave belong to a church with such fundamentalist views? Maybe it would be better if Dave did partic.i.p.ate. Although Angel hated the idea of helping him stay in the closet.

"Oh, uh, I have no idea why he slipped my mind," Angel said, not wanting to out a man who had yet to accept the truth about himself.

"I'm sure he would partic.i.p.ate. I mean, he's the vet in town, right?" Charlene looked around the table. "Has anyone even asked him?"

The rest of Angel's committee looked uncomfortable but no one said anything.

"Ah, look," Angel said, "at the last meeting, I volunteered to do a lot of outreach to the potential bachelors, but I think perhaps I was the wrong man for the job."

Wilma snorted. "Yeah, probably. Okay, Charlene, let's divvy up this list. You take Ross Gardiner, the Canaday boys, and your cousin Drew. I'll take the rest. This is what we get for leaving the heavy lifting to the men. We'll let you boys deal with the caterers."

"Uh, you want me to ask Dr. Dave?" Charlene asked.

"Sure," Angel said, and regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. As the main vet in town, Dave's absence would be noticed. But his partic.i.p.ation would be awkward.

Angel looked down at the blue-plate special that Flo had just delivered. His appet.i.te had suddenly fled. In truth, Angel wanted to buy Dave himself. But he could never do that, even though he had been out of the closet for years.

Mierda! He did not think he could stand to watch Dave being bought by some woman.

CHAPTER.

4.

Mike stuffed the microwave pizza box and paper plates into the flimsy plastic grocery bag, but he had no place to toss the garbage. The owner of this condo apparently didn't believe in trash cans. Although she certainly did have a thing for the color red. Or was it burgundy?

Either way, dark red cafe curtains swathed every window in the living room and kitchen, which made the place feel kind of dark. The chunky, oversized furniture in dark woods and burgundy velour upholstery didn't help. Neither did the ta.s.seled throw rugs placed under the coffee table and at the feet of the big, ugly chair. All in all the apartment looked like the home of a seventy-something spinster.

Mike found it maddening that the owner had left her kitchen gizmos-not to mention the curio cabinet filled with porcelain dolls-but had taken her trash can. Some guys might have viewed this as permission to leave the trash sitting on the floor. But that went against Mike's grain, probably because he'd grown up in a filthy apartment where the trash mounted up whenever Mom went on a bender. Sometimes if the bender lasted for days on end, the trash would start to stink.

So by the time Mike reached the age of thirteen, he'd given himself the job of taking out the trash, just one of many small things he'd done for Angie's sake. He never really learned to cook, but he could make macaroni out of a box and he knew his way around a microwave. Angie had not gone hungry when Mike lived at home.

But he'd failed her in every other way, especially when Mom took up with Richard.

Mike squeezed his eyes closed. He should never have walked out on his little sister.

He blew out a breath. There had to be a Dumpster somewhere. He picked up the bag and headed for the front door.

But before he could reach his destination, the doorbell rang. It was after nine o'clock. Didn't the yokels in this town go to sleep at this hour? Apparently not.

He opened the door to find a roundish, fifty-something woman with dark skin and graying hair standing on the landing that led to his apartment and the one next door. She blinked up at him from behind her gla.s.ses in the wan glow cast by the exterior lighting.

"Good Lord," she said, "you're a redhead."

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, putting on his poker face.

The woman gave him a serious inspection, stopping momentarily to read the logo on the bag of trash in his hand. "Oh, honey, you don't want to do your shopping at the Piggly Wiggly over in Bamberg when there's a BI-LO right in Last Chance."

"Uh, thanks."

"Oh, I apologize. I would have brought you one of my coconut cakes, but I didn't really have enough warning. I promise I'll get one over to y'all tomorrow as a welcome. I live in the apartment over there." She jacked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing vaguely in the direction of the building on the other side of the parking lot. The Edisto Pines were walk-up garden apartments that looked as if they'd been built in the late 1990s. They were wrapped in white vinyl siding and every six-over-six window had black shutters. The landscaper had gone heavy on azaleas and dogwoods, and the whole place conveyed an "Old South" vibe.