Mysteria Nights

right to be angry.”

“I am angry.”

“Yet, you haven’t uttered one grumble of vengeance or head bashing.”

“’Tis no use, truly, to wish for such things.” He seemed to be ready to say more but stopped himself. “None of it would do any good. ’Tis done.”

“That’s exactly what I mean by wow. It’s not easy to forgive and forget. A true man of mercy; that’s what you are.”

A look of pain crossed his face. “Aye, and ’twas my downfall, too,” he muttered.

“Mercy is never wrong! Never. In fact, showing mercy is good for you. And not only for your body—” She threw her hand over her heart. “Forgiving is good for your soul.”

He choked as alarm lit up his face. “Can you tell if a man has one—a soul?” All at once cynical and wistful, his expression revealed nothing of the reason behind the odd question.

She explained gently, as if to a child. Perhaps, spiritually, he was still very young. “Some people have rotten souls, and some have beautiful, generous souls, but no matter what, they have one. You, me. No exceptions to that rule. Everyone has a soul.”

He made a skeptical sound, but the longing in his face was clear as he rubbed his cleft chin. “How do you know so much about souls?”

“It’s my job. See that church? I’m the pastor.” As much as she loved her chosen calling in life, she deflated a little. Once men found out she was a pastor, they stopped thinking of her as a woman. From then on, they only wanted one of three things: absolution, friendship, or free counseling.

“A woman of God,” he said with dawning surprise. “You are a nun.”

A laugh burst out of her. “It seems like that sometimes, but no, I’m not a nun. I can marry, have a family, just like anyone else.” I can have hot, feverish sexual fantasies about well-built naked men. I can feel so horny I can’t see straight. I sometimes think of “celibacy” as a fourletter word.

She thrust out her hand. “I guess I should introduce myself since you obviously don’t know who I am. I’m Harmony—Harmony Faithfull.” He grasped the tips of her fingers with a cool, dry hand. There was gentleness cloaked in that strength, softness that he seemed to want to hide, but that she recognized anyway, putting her at ease when common sense told her she should be feeling the opposite. Just like when you sensed he’d grown tired of living. “And you are . . . ?” Ironic how she could know what every pore on his body looked like but not his name. “You have a name, right?” she teased when he didn’t immediately answer.

His dark brows drew together in concentration. She was about to suggest he see a doctor for shock or a possible concussion when he blurted out sheepishly, “I am called Demon.”

“Oh. That’s a favorite of mine. My nephew’s name is Damon, too.”

“Demon—Damon.” He looked up, brightening. “Yes, I am Damon.” She smiled encouragingly. “Damon what?”

Again he concentrated.

Boy, he sure did seem rattled. But after all he’d been through, it was understandable. “Damon, you really need to see a doctor.”

“Nay.”

“But—”

“I am Damon,” he announced. “Damon of Mysteria.”

“Damon of Mysteria. It doesn’t sound familiar. Or maybe I just don’t recognize you without your clothes.”

A devilish glint sparked in his eyes, sending shivers from her neck downward, flipping the “on” switch attached to all the neglected places in between as the sensation plunged to her toes. “Well, lass,” he said, winking, “I dinna think you can say that any longer.”

Four

Do not blush, Harmony. Do not. She stood up so fast that she got light-headed, her rational side praying that she didn’t faint, while at the same time the wanton tart she was fast becoming argued that there were far worse fates than landing in that incredible lap. “No, I guess I can’t say that any longer. Next time I see you around town, naked, I’ll know it’s you,” she retorted. Turning on her heel, she took a couple of steps and stopped. “Coming? I have some clothes inside I think will fit. I’ll brew a pot of coffee, too. You look like you could use it.”

“Nay,” he winced, “nothing hot. Water.”

I’m with you all the way on the water, bud. Only, I’ll take mine ice cold and in the form of a shower!

Damon pushed to his feet, her sweater pressed between his massive thighs. Harmony was five-nine, but he towered over her, taller than all her brothers, even Jake Jr. He had to be six-foot-five at least.

That long shadow fell over Bubba, who until now had been hanging close to Harmony. The puppy growled and backed up, teeth bared, fur rising in a ridge along his spine. “Hey, boy. It’s okay,” Harmony soothed, but the puppy started snarling and wouldn’t quit.

Damon turned one hand palm up as he focused on the dog. His gold-brown eyes were arresting as it was, but now they grew so intense that they appeared to glow. It was a much different heat from what she’d seen when he’d caught her staring at his, uh, equipment. Not quite human, Damon’s gaze was animal-like in its intensity and focus, almost as if he were communicating with her dog, wolf to wolf, so much so that she half-expected them to start howling any minute as something went back and forth between dog and man. Then, spell broken, Bubba wriggled over to Damon to lick his hand, that cute little tail wagging furiously.

“Wow. He likes you.”

“He trusts me,” Damon corrected. “The like will come in time.”

Mmm. The guy had a way with women and dogs, she thought. An interspecies charmer.

They started walking toward the house. The road on the other side of the picket fence was empty of cars and joggers. Thank goodness. If anyone saw the new pastor going inside her house with a naked man . . . well, she’d never be able to get anyone to believe the real story.

Even she didn’t believe the real story.

Bubba pranced alongside them as they walked up the porch steps leading to the door at the back of the chapel where Harmony’s living quarters were located. Stepping into her small, cozy living room, Damon looked painfully out of place: a towering, hard-featured, rugged man in the midst of everything small and soft. Or, it could be just that he was naked.

In five seconds flat, she’d found him some work clothes that belonged to her largest brother. When Damon returned to the kitchen after changing into a pair of Jake Jr.’s faded Levi’s and a gray, oilstained, long-sleeved Henley T-shirt, her hunch was confirmed: everything was too tight and too short. At least the buttons and zippers weren’t popping. Yet.

“Have a seat, Damon. I’ll fix you something to eat and drink.”

Looking a little lost, Damon sat at her small table, smoothing large hands over the lace cloth. It was as if everything were new to him, everything a wonder. Even her, she realized with a tiny twist of her heart when his gold-brown eyes found hers for a moment before focusing on the glass of water she nearly spilled in his lap. It was more than her current state of isolation—or intuition; this man did things to her, plain and simple, with his ancient eyes and surprisingly young soul.

She reached into the fridge for a leftover apple pie, a baked ham, rolls, mayo, and mustard. Big men ate big; that, she already knew from the five super-sized men in her family. Grabbing utensils and napkins, she dropped a slice of ham in Bubba’s bowl on her way back to the table, where she cut Damon a huge slab of pie and slid the plate next to the overloaded one that held a lumberjack-sized ham sandwich. After she made herself a much smaller sandwich, she carried her plate to the table to sit across from Damon as he downed his water with thirsty gulps. She poured him some more. “Feeling better?” she asked after he finished the second glass.