Gabriel's Discovery. Felicia Mason
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thinking.
“And I just think it would be wonderful to have you over for dinner after church this Sunday, Pastor.”
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” he answered Mrs. Hardy with a pat to the elderly woman’s hand. With most of his attention on Susan, Gabriel lent just half an ear to sweet Mrs. Hardy, a longtime member of the church.
“We eat at four o’clock,” she said. “And my lovely granddaughter Samantha will be visiting that day from Denver. Won’t that be nice? She’s a doctor, you know. A pediatrician. She loves children.”
The not-so-subtle hint and definite accent on that last part gave him pause.
With a sinking feeling, Gabriel turned his full attention to Mrs. Hardy. Had he just agreed to have dinner with her and her family, including someone named Samantha?
By necessity, in his nine months at Good Shepherd, he’d gotten rather adept at avoiding the obvious setups from his parishioners. It seemed they all wanted to see him walking down the aisle with a bride they could claim as first lady of the church. He wasn’t the first pastor of color for the diverse congregation, but he was the first single one they’d ever had. His lack of a spouse apparently didn’t sit well with some. They wanted to see their pastor happily married, and from the look of things the last few months, there existed a never-ending supply of would-be brides.
The only problem with the plans laid out for him by others was that Gabriel had no intention of getting married that way. He firmly and steadfastly believed that a wife and children were in his future, but it would be in God’s time. He would be equally yoked with the woman the Lord designated for him, not one offered up like a sacrificial lamb or an item at the all-you-can-eat buffet.
To date, he’d been presented with a dizzying array of blondes, brunettes and redheads of all shapes, sizes and ethnic backgrounds, from athletic tomboys to full-figured models. Counted in the number were teachers and lawyers, a florist, an Olympic gymnast, even a bestselling romance author.
For Gabriel, though, what a woman did for a living and what her outer package looked like didn’t matter nearly as much as her inside.
Did she have a one-on-one relationship with God? Was she a prayer warrior, someone who understood the power of prayer? Did she put her faith and her walk with the Lord above all else? Those things mattered to Gabriel.
Once before, he’d almost made the mistake of marrying to please others. The engagement to Mikki Metz had lasted all of six weeks before they both realized they were about to make a really big mistake.
No, siree, he thought as he nodded at Mrs. Hardy. He’d dodged bullets and land mines in the first Gulf War; surely he could dodge a few well-meaning matchmaking members of his congregation.
But first, it looked like he’d be having dinner at Mrs. Hardy’s home on Sunday afternoon.
“You won’t forget now, will you, Pastor Gabriel?”
He smiled at the dear old lady, who was all of four foot eleven. “I won’t. I’ll make a note of it in my appointment book.”
She beamed up at him. “Wonderful. I’m sure you and Samantha will have a lot to talk about. You have very much in common.”
Gabriel doubted it, but kept that thought to himself as Mrs. Hardy bid him farewell for the afternoon.
Two more members of Good Shepherd, both of whom had single daughters, were making a beeline for him. Gabriel wasn’t a coward by any stretch of the imagination, but today he decided retreat was, indeed, the better part of valor.
His gaze drifted to Susan Carter. Now, there stood a woman he could appreciate. Her bright smile and corkscrew curls appealed to him. Finding out why she seemed so interested in him today was preferable to sidestepping another offer of pot roast and apple pie.
Susan watched him duck and evade the latest salvos. As she turned to check on her girls, she smiled, first at the minister’s efforts to get away from his members, then at the antics of her twins. They, along with several other children, ran around the church lawn chasing a multicolored wind sock held high and circled overhead by the church’s youth minister.
She felt more than heard Gabriel approach.
“It’s all your fault,” he said softly. His voice, a rich tenor with just a smidgen of something southern lingering in the accent, washed over her, doing things it shouldn’t…like making her wish she didn’t have a bone to pick with him.
“I beg your pardon?”
Gabriel Dawson stood right next to her, almost crowding her personal space.
“It’s your fault I now have a Sunday dinner engagement. You distracted me.”
A part of Susan thrilled at his words. To make that claim, he had to have been watching her as closely as she watched him. But that, of course, was ridiculous. Susan knew the caliber of women who were after him—women who had a lot more going for them than being a single mother and the widow of a drug addict who didn’t even have a home she could call her own.
Then she saw the teasing light in his eyes, the twitch of a grin at his mouth and she had to laugh in response.
“Well, if all it takes is somebody looking at you to get you distracted, Reverend, you might need a few lessons in how to focus.”
“And are you teaching those classes?”
Susan blinked. Was he flirting with her?
Before she had the chance to decide, Hannah and Sarah ran up. Breathless, the twins tried to talk over each other.
“There’s a juggler!”
“Can we go?”
“It’s right over there.”
“Ooh, look, he’s starting!”
“Whoa, ladies,” Susan said, putting an arm around the shoulders of each girl. They were decked out in identical sweatshirts, jeans and sneakers. “Did you forget something?”
The six-year-olds spared a moment to look up. “Hi, Pastor Gabriel,” they said, their voices echoing off each other. “Can we go now, Mom? Pleeease.”
Susan nodded and the twins jumped up and down.
“Hold hands,” Susan called to their backs, the girls already heading across the lawn to a spot where a juggler on stilts had begun to perform in front of an excited crowd of children and teenagers.
Laughing, Gabriel watched Susan’s daughters holding hands as they ran, long beaded braids flying behind. “Your daughters are a delight, Mrs. Carter.”
“More like a handful,” she said. “And why don’t you call me Susan.”
“I will,” he said with a smile.
Susan spent a moment regretting that he wouldn’t be one of the bachelors up for auction at the fund-raising gala the following weekend. Forget the fantasy dates Jessica had set up; she’d make a generous donation to her own cause just to watch this man smile.
“Only if you’ll call me Gabriel.”
“It’s a deal,” she said. “Though I’m not in the habit of calling clergy members by their first names.”
“Then don’t think of me as clergy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to accomplish that?” Like a game-show hostess displaying the grand prize for correctly answering the bonus-round question, she swept her hand in front of her. “Look at this. We’re at your church’s annual Labor Day picnic. The church is right over there with your name displayed—in rather large letters, I might say.” The church with its stained glass windows was a centerpiece in the neighborhood.
Gabriel chuckled. “I had nothing to do with that sign.”
A huge red-and-white banner welcomed members and friends to the church picnic.