silver-haired witch. Could she tell his origins? He hoped not. If Harmony were to find out through her friends that he’d come from the depths of Hell, she’d banish him from her church for good. He wouldn’t lie to her, when that time came, but the longer he could put off the truth, the better. “If I’d bumped into you before,” Godiva said, “I’d have remembered. You’re new here.”
“Aye, I am.”’Twas not really a lie. It had been three hundred years since he was last here; it was almost like being new in town all over again. He stood proudly, the ax resting on his shoulder. “I’m the new church groundskeeper.”
“Really.” Glory exchanged a speculative glance with her sisters. “We didn’t know there’d been an
“There wasn’t. I’m the first.” Damon folded his hands on the tip of the shovel handle and three pairs of hungry eyes shifted to his bare chest. Their sexual interest thickened the air.
The trio paused to whisper among themselves, glancing at him often, sometimes even his face, but mostly from his neck down. Damon noticed the shopping bags they carried. They’d been on their way home from shopping when they’d spotted him and stopped dead in their tracks. If townsfolk regularly passed this close to the church, why then couldn’t they spare a few moments more and visit on Sundays?
An idea began to form. A magnificent idea. Harmony needed a way to lure the townsfolk inside the church. Perhaps he was the answer to that problem.
His body had been put to far worse uses, certainly. And he’d spent ten thousand years planting doubts and fears. Could he not do the same with the women in the town, but planting interest to attend Harmony’s church instead? He wouldn’t be able to convince them in his typical fashion, for he’d lost the ability to circumvent free will when he was banished from Hell, but he could influence others, especially female others, in a much more primitive way. Aye, an
Damon’s mouth curved in a slow smile he was sure all three women felt to the very tips of their toes. Then, stretching his arms over his head, he worked a kink out of his back. The women looked faint as he hefted his pickax. “Alas, I cannot dally any longer. I am behind in my labors. Reverend Faithfull will beat me if I dinna get back to work.”
Glory’s lush mouth fell open. “Harmony beats you?”
“Only if I misbehave,” he confided in a deep and sexy burr.
One of the witches made a small, soft sound.
“But I’ll be doing maintenance on the church on Sunday—Sunday morning.”
“What time?” Glory whispered.
“A quarter to nine.” Damon winked at her, picked up the pickax, and went back to work. When he next glanced up, the sisters had walked away, but as they disappeared around the bend in the road, he saw them murmuring and giggling among themselves.
Aye, he’d planted his seeds of interest. If things went as he hoped they would, by next Sunday, Harmony would be reaping what he’d sown.
Eight
On Sunday, Harmony stood on the front lawn of the church, watching in happy amazement as woman after woman filed in for the nine A.M. service. Smiling and shaking hands, she welcomed the women she’d previously seen only at the One-Stop, the gas station, or on the streets of the town.
In uniform, Jeanie Tortellini walked up to her. Harmony couldn’t help thinking of Legolas. In fact, the other day when she’d visited the sheriff, the jail cell had been empty. Although she often wondered what had happened to the sexy elf, she hadn’t come up with a tactful way to ask the question.
“You’ve got yourself a nice crowd this morning, Harmony,” Jeanie said.
“I do.” Harmony tried to keep the bewilderment from her voice. It was only 8:45 and the pews were already one-third filled. With eager women. “And you’re here, too, Jeanie. I thought you had to work Sunday mornings.”
“I do. I’m here on official business.”
Harmony lifted a brow. “What kind of business?”
“Crowd control.”
Before Harmony could ask how the sheriff knew there’d be a crowd at church, Marie, the UPS driver, poked her head in their little huddle. “Where did you hide him, Reverend?”
“Hide who?”
“Your new groundskeeper.”
“You mean Damon?”
Jeanie shook her head as if Harmony was beyond all help. “Yes. Damon. He’s hot. If you haven’t noticed.”
“And if you haven’t noticed,” Maria put in, “you might want to stop by Dr. Fogg’s office and take a gander at the eye chart, because I would say you need those peepers examined.”
“Or get her heart checked to see if she has a pulse,” Jeanie teased.
Harmony supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that it hadn’t taken long for word to get around about Damon. Almost as much as they appreciated the attributes of a good-looking man, the women of Mysteria loved juicy gossip, particularly when the latter concerned the former. Everyone, it seemed, even the pets, had a libido running in constant overdrive. Maybe it was that strange pink pollen. Nevertheless, she mumbled something about it not being professional to view her new employee in
“Ooh, there he is now.” Maria hurried off to where a small crowd of women had gathered around Damon, watching as he fiddled with a repair to the door frame at the front entrance of the church. Why was he doing that now, of all things, right when services were about to start? He’d been busy with the fence all week, and she’d assumed he’d take Sunday off, which was his free time by rights.
Laughter rang out from the group of women surrounding Damon. He appeared to be charming the panties off them as he ushered them inside. As if he’d sensed she was watching, he turned and caught her gaze. Immediately, his expression changed into something warmer, more personal, telling her that he viewed her differently from the other women.
Harmony shifted her attention to Bubba, who sat adoringly at Damon’s feet, the cute little traitor. But who could blame the dog? Damon occupied Harmony’s thoughts day and night, too. Especially at night. She’d added an extra two miles to her daily jog, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
Jeanie lowered her voice and spoke in her ear. “If I can tear your attention away from the groundskeeper hunk for a second, I have the information you requested.”
Harmony’s heart skipped a beat as she whirled around. “Damon’s fingerprints.”
“Uh-huh. And I don’t have anything on him.”
“Great!” But Jeanie appeared more troubled than relieved. Harmony frowned. “Isn’t that good?”
“I mean I have
“What are you saying—that he doesn’t exist?”
Jeanie spread her hands. “My research went beyond prints. I have friends in high places, and they helped. As far as the government goes, no. He’s never applied for a passport, or registered to vote. He’s never paid taxes, either, but then he’s never held a job that required even the simplest background check. It goes without saying that he’s never seen the inside of a prison—which was what you were worried about, right?”
Harmony thought back to the day it seemed that Damon had literally appeared out of nowhere in the garden. “What if he switched identities? What if he’s a fugitive trying to escape his past?”
“We’d have picked it up. Prints are prints. I had an expert check them out, too, a CIA buddy who owed me a favor. Your hunk’s fingerprints showed no evidence of being altered surgically or by any other method.” The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say, but that he’s clean. Real clean. Count your blessings.”
