Grits And Glory. Ron Benrey

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      Ann couldn’t see outside but she could hear the windblown rain drumming on the heavily shuttered windows and it was getting louder by the minute. She wished that she knew more about extreme weather. How could she estimate the amount of rain falling? How much wind did it take to peel shingles off the roof? What should she do if the lights failed inside the church?

      Stop worrying about Gilda. Other people in Glory are in much greater danger than you are.

      The sound of the church’s doorbell promptly switched her thoughts. Maybe someone wants to take refuge inside the church? Ann raced to front door. She had to push the brass handle with all of her strength to keep the stout wooden door ajar against the force of the wind. A yellow hood poked around the edge of the door.

      “May we come in?” said a male voice.

      “Of course. But I don’t dare let go of the door.”

      “We’ll work the door. Stand back so you don’t get soaked. It’s like the bottom of Niagara Falls out here.”

      Ann stepped sideways. Mr. Yellow Suit and a taller man dressed in a red rain slicker and pants slipped into the narthex and pulled the door shut. Ann recognized the red-suited man straight away when he tugged back his hood. Carlo Vaughn was the Storm Channel’s star weather reporter. She couldn’t help staring at him. The man was drop-dead gorgeous: a classic chiseled face, perfect features, lovely chestnut-colored hair that framed his brow, glowing dark brown eyes, and a smile that lit up the narthex.

      “Good afternoon,” Mr. Yellow Suit said. “We’re from the Storm Channel.”

      Ann responded to his greeting politely, then looked back at Carlo to take in more details: the powerful aura of self-assurance he projected…his brilliant, dazzling smile…the absence of a wedding ring on his third finger…

      “My name is Carlo Vaughn.” Carlo’s voice oozed like warm syrup over a buttered waffle. He gave his name a slightly European pronunciation, hitting the second syllable rather than the first.

      “Welcome to Glory Community Church,” she replied. “I’ve seen you on TV many times.”

      “I’ve come to Glory because there’s a hurricane on the way.”

      “‘Storms come, storms go. We follow the storms,’” Ann said.

      “You even know our slogan.” He extended a hand. “And your name is?”

      “Ann Trask,” she managed, trying to conceal her excitement.

      “Well, Ann Trask, I have a favor to ask of you. May we locate our broadcast van in your parking lot?” He pointed toward the rear of the building.

      “Our van is completely self-contained,” Mr. Yellow Suit barked.

      “Thank you, Sean,” Carlo said. “Ann, let me introduce Sean Miller. Sean is my associate, the man behind the camera.”

      Ann studied Sean. He’d pulled back his hood, revealing a plain face that currently overflowed with annoyed impatience. His lack of good looks compared to Carlo—plus his sour expression—worked together to create a bad impression. She found herself feeling annoyed at this boorish hanger-on.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Sean said perfunctorily. “The fact is, your parking lot may be the only dry ground in Glory when Gilda hits. We have a broadcast scheduled in less than forty-five minutes. May we park in your lot?”

      Ann returned her gaze to Carlo. “How big is your van?”

      “Imagine a bread delivery truck with a satellite dish on the roof. We’ll find an out-of-the-way location in the back—you won’t even know we’re there.”

      “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Vaughn.”

      “Please call me Carlo.”

      “Well, Carlo,” Ann said, feeling a flush in her cheeks, “park as close to the church as you’d like. This is one of the most solidly built structures in Glory. We’re set up as an emergency shelter—come inside whenever you need to. Our side entrance faces the parking lot.”

      “That’s very kind of you.”

      Ann noticed that Sean rolled his eyes. She wondered how a gentleman like Carlo could spend his days traveling with an ill-mannered assistant who clearly lacked his boss’s sophistication and polish.

      “Ann, I have to get ready to go on the air,” Carlo said. “I’ll leave Sean here to work out the details. Let’s chat later, after my broadcast.”

      “That would be great,” Ann said, smiling.

      She took a step backward as Sean eased the front door open for Carlo, allowing a whirlwind of raindrops to spray the narthex. Carlo gave a jaunty wave and marched into the downpour. Sean seemed to be shaking his head as he pulled the heavy door shut.

      Ann suddenly realized she’d met a TV star while wearing an abysmal outfit—an old pair of blue jeans, a scruffy plaid shirt and bright yellow plastic clogs. What little makeup she had put on that morning had certainly worn off. Why not spruce up before Carlo comes back?

      Why not, indeed?

      “Ms. Trask,” Sean said loudly, “I’m on a tight schedule.”

      She tried not to frown at his unpleasant attempt to catch her attention. “Certainly. What do you need from me?”

      “I wanted to explain that I intend to park the van in the lee of the church. That way, the building will shield the van from the worst of the winds but our satellite antenna will still have an unobstructed view of the sky.”

      “Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

      “There’s a small downside to parking so close to the church. You’ll probably hear our generator from time to time.”

      “Oh, you have a generator? We have one, too.”

      “My condolences.” He shook his head gloomily. “Ours is the thing I hate most in the world. It’s ornery and unreliable—and a pain to start.”

      “Unreliable? Is that common for generators?”

      “Usually,” СКАЧАТЬ