Nothing Sacred. Tara Quinn Taylor

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      He bit her back, sliding her down to hold her body between his legs while, with one hand on her swollen mouth, he unlocked the door with the other.

      Then, his hands on her breasts, he pushed her ahead of him into the room and kicked the door shut behind them.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      AT EIGHT O’CLOCK ON Thursday night, David Marks was trying to convince himself that he was interested in the National Geographic show on television. He found the plight of pandas interesting, but he’d already seen the program twice.

      And he couldn’t stand another sitcom, another half hour of laugh tracks. Or news that was a repeat of what he’d heard that morning.

      He’d read for an hour. Chores were done. This week’s sermon finished. Bills paid.

      Never since he’d joined the ministry had he had downtime like this. Exactly the opposite, in fact. In his experience, there were always people who’d take advantage of an extended hand—usually too many of them to help. His challenge, and concern, had always been what to do with those he didn’t reach, those he couldn’t help. He’d always had to spread himself thin—so thin he’d had no time for television or extra reading or boredom or discontent. Living in this town, which didn’t trust him, didn’t need him, was an experience unlike any he’d encountered before.

      “The panda is…”

      What more could he do to convince the people of Shelter Valley to use his services? To do more than just show up at church and nod thoughtfully at his sermons? To ask more of him?

      “Watch how playfully…”

      How much longer could he hang around where he wasn’t needed?

      As long as it takes.

      Great. Just what he wanted to hear.

      His sarcasm got no response.

      “Where’ve you been?” he said aloud, staring at the television screen, registering little.

      Right here.

      “I haven’t heard from you in two weeks.”

      You haven’t asked.

      No, he supposed he hadn’t. He hated it when he did that—got so caught up in himself and his mission that he forgot he wasn’t doing this on his own.

      “So tell me, is there a reason for me to be here?”

      What do you think?

      “I’m asking you.”

      What do you think?

      David didn’t know why he bothered trying to take the easy way out. Expecting him to do the work. There was no getting around the voice in his head. It always told him what he intuitively knew was right—even he didn’t recognize the rightness of what that voice said until he heard it.

      And it didn’t give up.

      It was why he’d grown to trust them so implicitly.

      “I think I have a job to do here.”

      Yes.

      “There are people here who need my help.”

      Yes.

      “I’m here for them, not for me.”

      No.

      What? “What?” he reiterated out loud, sitting in the middle of his couch, feet planted firmly on the floor, staring at a TV screen that could have been popping bubbles for all he knew.

      There was no answer to his question. And that happened sometimes, too.

      “Then…who am I here for?” He tried rephrasing it.

      You.

      David stood, turned off the television. That answer hadn’t come from his angel. Because this wasn’t about him. He knew that. His life was about serving others.

      He’d bake some cookies.

      And take them to the veterinary clinic in the morning. If Cassie and Zack didn’t want them, then surely their clients would. Dogs ate dirt and grass and practically everything else. Surely they’d eat David’s oatmeal cookies.

      The first batch wasn’t done evenly—he’d forgotten to preheat the oven and had just shoved the cookies in cold. But cookie dough was a popular taste these days.

      And the second batch burned—he hadn’t bothered with the timer, knowing he’d be right there and would remember to check them. Then he’d decided to do the dishes, which led to taking out the trash, which led to a walk around the backyard just to assure himself that there wasn’t something else that needed doing. He’d known the minute he’d gone back inside what he’d done. His nose had told him.

      No problem. Dogs were color-blind. And they were used to eating crunchy food. They wouldn’t care if their cookies were hard and black.

      And maybe, while he was at the clinic, he’d see about getting a dog of his own. Cassie and Zack would know if there were some puppies, or even an older dog, that needed a home.

      He scraped the last of the burned cookies from the pan and was just heading to the sink when there was a noise at his kitchen door. It sounded more as if something had fallen against the door than a knock. He stopped. Listened.

      Nothing.

      Setting down the pan, David moved to the door and opened it slowly, half expecting to see a stray pooch there, looking for a home. Maybe it had smelled the cookies….

      What he saw stopped his heart.

      “Ellen?” He knew it was her. But he didn’t recognize her at all.

      The girl was a mess. Her clothes were torn. Her eyes and lips swollen. Her short blond hair was plastered to her head, except for a couple of places where it was sticking straight up.

      What kind of accident could have done this to her?

      “Honey?”

      She didn’t respond. Just stood there. Staring blankly at the doorjamb as though she was seeing something far away—or deep inside herself.

      He wasn’t sure she knew where she was.

      “Ellen.” He spoke more firmly. He was afraid to touch her. And yet he had to find out what had happened. The extent of her injuries. She could have broken bones or be bleeding internally. “Come inside, child.”

      He had to get her into the light. Get her to talk. Get help.

      Keeping a tight grip on his heart, he forced logical thought to take over. This wasn’t Ellen. It wasn’t a child. Wasn’t his parishioner. Or the daughter of Martha Moore. This was simply a hurt human being in need of help.

      Slowly, СКАЧАТЬ