FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1) Read online

  It was humiliating enough he was bearing witness to her pukefest, but Tristan helping her through it added the rotten cherry on top of Kadence Janacek’s spectacularly crap weekend. And just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Alex chose that precise moment to find her. Alex, who’d never been on time for anything in her entire life arrived with Tristan’s best friend and some pretty redhead in tow to catch her loser sister retching her guts out in a goddamn broom closet.

  TWELVE

  Heavenly Father, forgive me…

  It’s been too long since my last confession. I was arrogant to assume I could do this on my own. That’s far from the case I’m finding and now humbly prostrate myself before you. I don’t have the strength, or shamefully at times the wish to resist her, O Lord, and need your divine hand to lead me not into temptation but to deliver me from evil.

  I know and know too well that the evil isn’t the woman herself but rather the lust that lurks within me. In the dark recesses of my soul it hides in wait for any chink in my faith through which to escape. That makes me afraid, Father. So afraid that my shortcomings will again cause me to transgress. To fall from grace even farther than I already have and endanger my immortal soul.

  Therefore I beseech you…

  Grant me the clarity to see, the fortitude to withstand, and the courage to renounce those things which seek to distract then destroy me. Silence those desires that scream like sirens in my head. Sever the carnal cravings that feed my weakness. Lay siege to the demons that torment my feeble mind and test my recalcitrant will at every turn.

  That I may better serve you and be more worthy of your love… All this I ask of you, my blessed and merciful God.

  Concluding his personal prayer, Tristan directed a psalm heavenward. “‘With my whole heart I seek you,’” he recited aloud. “ ‘Let me not wander from your commandments. I have stored up your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.’ ”

  Lake Eclipse was his Walden Pond, an area twenty miles north of town nestled in an isolated campground known only to locals. It’s where he went to get closer to God. To pray. To give thanks and ask for guidance. Pour his heart out and make confession. Instead of kneeling before an altar or sitting inside a reconciliation booth, the holy father did all that standing beside a serene lake in a secluded meadow encompassed by black walnut and white oak. In summer months it was a popular spot for fisherman and swimmers but in early spring a place only those seeking quiet contemplation sought out.

  It was a little after dawn, his favorite time to visit the park, which meant getting up early and riding at a time when the sky was that stage between salmon and gray, when aside from the occasional long-haul trucker the highway was pretty much his. Despite being on a motorcycle, the weather was rarely a deterrent. Rain or shine, he relished this hour alone on the road. As long as he had a thermos full of coffee in his backpack, and under his helmet “Living After Midnight” pulsating through his earbuds he was golden. A Catholic priest rocking out to Judas Priest? Yeah no, the irony wasn’t lost on him.

  One Apostles’ Creed, one Lord’s Prayer, and three Hail Mary’s later, Father Cleary pocketed the string of hematite beads and ended his rosary prayers by tracing the sign of the cross over himself. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.”

  Depending on how badly he needed divine counsel and intervention, he made the trek out there once or twice a month, usually staying for no more than an hour. This particular morning he’d been hanging around for over two. If it were up to him he’d never leave. He didn’t want to get back, especially not today when he knew what was in store for him later.

  Later he was going to put himself right smack in the middle of the danger zone. Willingly. Like a masochist. Like a pea-brained imbecile. Like a fucking half-wit. Like a fool in love, his subconscious whispered too quietly to hear.

  Enjoying one last look at the lake and a flock of loons coming in for a landing, Tristan exhaled a breath of resignation, and with lumbering steps headed back to his bike.

  The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid?

  He knew the answer and it made him grim.

  ~oOo~

  How long? How long since Tristan Cleary stood on that cracked concrete stoop, on that black vinyl doormat? The white lettering had faded to the point it now read WE COM instead of WELCOME so obviously it’d been awhile. Ten years, nine months, and forty-seven days if anyone was counting.

  He recalled with painful clarity the day he rang the doorbell and listened to it chime Elvis’ “Love Me Tender” for the last and final time. It was the day he and Kady broke up. The day he called her a whore.

  The father cringed at the memory.

  As he reached out to push the button, his hand was shaking so badly he clenched it into a fist and knocked instead. He’d give it five Mississippi’s and if no one answered the door by then he was leaving. As he began to count, the paper bag he was holding rustled in his tightening grip. Pretext aside, he had no idea why he was even standing here.

  Hearing the lock click open almost immediately, his stomach clutched. A slight woman who looked a lot like Kady—except older with graying blonde hair cut in a middle-aged bob—flung open the door as if she’d been expecting the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol instead of the man who drove her daughter away.

  No, that was Kady’s choice. He was done feeling responsible for that.

  Julia Janacek greeted Tristan enthusiastically and a little breathlessly, her warm ear-to-ear smile alleviating any qualms he might’ve had about how he would be received. When he spoke to her on the phone earlier, he hadn’t been able to gauge her tone. He should’ve remembered that she was always loving and compassionate and not someone to affix blame or hold grudges.

  “Tristan,” she gushed. “Come in, come in. I’m so happy you phoned. So, so happy.”

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Janacek.”

  Ever since Tristan was a kid, he addressed Silvie by her surname as he’d been taught by his grandmother to do with all adults. Even though he was a grown-up now himself and on equal footing, he still continued to refer to anyone with at least two decades on him as Mister or Missus. More often than not he was met with affronted objections.

  Call me Bob. Mr. Jones makes me sound like my father.

  But Silvie had always appreciated the formality. She was only fifty-five but considered herself old fashioned (“old school” Alex kept correcting her), and the show of respect assured her that the boy her daughter was going out with had been “raised right”. It was one of the many things she liked about Tristan. The almost reverent way he’d treated Kadence was another.

  After hanging his black leather jacket on the standing coat rack in the entryway, Silvie ushered Tristan inside the living room and began fussing over him—mostly out of long habit and perhaps a bit of nervous energy—then ran off to fetch him a cup of coffee despite his polite declination.

  “Sit, sit,” she urged when she returned. Shoving a mug into his hand, she led him by the elbow toward a recliner. “We have so much catching up to do.”

  She took the couch directly across from him and sat gazing at him with a wondrous look on her grinning face.

  Feeling like an oddity in a curiosity shop, Tristan squirmed slightly in his seat. Offering Mrs. Janacek a thin-lipped smile, he took an evasive sip of coffee, glad to have it after all if only for the distraction it provided. “Catching up” with the mother of his ex-fiancée was the furthest thing from what Tristan wanted to do.

  He took another sip. The coffee was sweet. Perfect, in fact.

  “Two Splenda?” she confirmed.

  He nodded, taken aback and touched she would remember how he took his coffee.

  “It’s been much too long,” she half-scolded him.

  In lieu of speaking any actual words, the priest m
ade a small sound in his throat. In truth, his mind had gone blank and for the life of him he couldn’t come up with a single thing to say. Being in this house again with all its memories was leaving him feeling a little verklempt. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of what used to be and what could’ve been.

  Family photographs lined the oak mantel above the hearth end to end. Seeing the ones of him and Kady on display surprised him. He figured the Janaceks would’ve long since erased any and all traces of their daughter’s ex from their home, and yet positioned front and center was a candid shot of the two of them engaged in a poolside lip lock.

  The photograph had been taken in high school, at a classmate’s swim party. Thinking back to that fun, carefree day should’ve filled Tristan with warm adolescent nostalgia. Instead, the memory squeezed his chest until he thought the walls would cave in and collapse his lungs. That was the day he told Kady he loved her for the first time.

  Silvie’s short laugh cut through the bitter memory. “Forgive me, but I still haven’t gotten used to seeing you in…” She fluttered her fingers at his clergy shirt.

  Even with the collar there was little about Tristan that made her think priest. The jeans and motorcycle jacket certainly didn’t help. She recalled that he’d always been a comely boy, a bit gangly perhaps but possessing arresting features rife with promise. Though she’d known he was going to be a heartbreaker someday, never did she imagine he’d turn out quite like this. When had he gotten so… svalnatý?

  Beefy.

  “So how do I properly address you now?”

  “I'd like it if you continued calling me by my name. No reason that should have to change.” Even though everything else between them had.

  Silvie seemed pleased. “I’d like it as well.” And relieved.

  Accepting that this boy she’d watched grow up was now a holy reverend was difficult enough without having to also refer to him as “father.” Silvie was aware, as everyone who knew him did, that Tristan Cleary had devoted himself to God at an early age. She just never figured on him actually becoming a priest, not when he was all set to be her son-in-law.

  They sat for a few minutes in awkward silence—Tristan taking small sips of his coffee and Silvie taking inventory of the wrinkles in her skirt.

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Jerry.” Jerry being Mr. Janacek. He’d insisted Tristan not call him that because it made him feel like an old fart. His words.

  “Thank you.”

  “How’s he holding up?”

  Silvie’s face sagged. “As well as can be expected I suppose.”

  “As soon as I found out I’d planned on visiting. I would’ve been here sooner. It’s just that… Well, the weeks keep getting away from me.”

  Christ, could that have sounded any lamer? There was no excuse for not coming to check on him sooner. That wasn’t even the reason he was there now. One of Tristan’s many regrets was not keeping in touch with the rest of the family after things fell apart with Kady.

  Initially it’d been too painful. He didn’t want anything to do with her or anyone related to her. But when too much time had gone by it just seemed pointless. Living in a small town and attending the same church meant they’d occasionally run into each, but the familial closeness was no longer there. Which is all too often the case when couples divorce or split up. Family and friends do as well.

  “Of course, Tristan, I understand. Everyone’s so busy these days. I’ll be sure to let Jerald know you stopped by. That you asked about him. Perhaps you can catch him another day soon.”

  “He’s not home now.”

  “Chemo.”

  “Ah.”

  In situations like this the priest usually didn't find himself at a loss for words. It was part of his vocation to provide comfort and counsel to those in need. Being in this house, in this room with Mrs. Janacek sitting across from him… he didn’t feel like Father Cleary but rather the boy he was when last here.

  “Alexandra will be bringing him back later this afternoon. She had to— Well, it was Kadence who was supposed to be with him for his treatment today.” What Silvie didn’t say but what he heard was, she’s still hung-over. “I want to thank you for what you did for her, Tristan. You know, the way you looked after her the other night. Alex told me what happened. How Kadence drank a little too much and got sick. You always did take such good care of her.”

  So, Mrs. Janacek knew only half the story. Just as well. No need to further worry her. Tristan set down his cup. “Yes, well, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  He’d sooner stab a fork in his eye than admit he’d searched the pub for Kady like a frantic parent scouring a shopping mall for a lost child. And hell if he could fathom why he did.

  “I’m grateful just the same.”

  While more minutes ticked by, Tristan adjusted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable began rubbing the back of his neck. Silvie watched him from under her lashes and wondered when the boy was going to get to the crux of his visit. She knew he wasn’t here to reminisce with her about old times. Just like she knew the reason he gave for dropping by was a ruse.

  She sighed inwardly. Looked like it was going to be up to her to nudge the chick out of its nest. “She’s upstairs.”

  Tristan’s hand stilled on his nape. “Sorry?”

  “Kady,” she clarified unnecessarily. “She hasn't come out of her room since Alex brought her home. Sleeping mostly.” Hiding mainly. “Why don’t you go on up and see her. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you herself.”

  “Oh she did,” he quickly assured her. “Thank me.”

  Silvie pursed her lips to keep them from curling into a sly, knowing smile. His nervousness was amusing and endearing. It reminded her of the young“Tristan,” she gently coaxed. “Go on up.”

  He coughed. “Yeah, no… I mean, when I called earlier I only… I was only going to drop off…” Jesus, he was blathering like an idiot. He picked up the paper bag he’d placed by his feet and extracted the excuse for his visit. A woman’s handbag. “She left it behind in the… but I guess I already told you that on the phone.”

  As Silvie took the proffered purse, Tristan replayed when he found it. He’d been closing up the confessional booth—after sending Kady running out of the church like her hair was on fire—when something by the kneeler snagged his eye. When he’d leaned down for a closer look, he felt his intestines instantly pretzel.

  Oh no. His head fell back. Oh hell no.

  Not only did he recognize the item but also the implication that came with it. It would have to be returned to its rightful owner. Said owner being the one person he hoped never again to see. He’d looked up at the ceiling and to the heavens beyond, Father Cleary let out a disheartened sigh that seemed to say, “Are you kidding me Lord?”

  With a shake of his head, he’d snatched the purse off the floor, muttered something under his breath that unquestionably began with the letter F, then stormed into his office where he remained sequestered for the remainder of that afternoon praying for strength, guidance and deliverance from a tiny temptress with hair the color of burnished platinum and eyes so blue that looking into them was like basking beneath a cloudless sky.

  “Well, it was certainly nice of you to return it in person, Tristan. But I could’ve saved you the trouble by picking it up on my way to the post office later,” Silvie said.

  “I was going to be in the neighborhood, anyway,” he lied.

  She raised a brow at that but refrained from commenting.

  After making a show of checking his wristwatch, the priest stood up. “I should get going. Have a few parishioners yet to visit today.” Another fib. He was full of them today but knew the Almighty would understand. “Thanks for the coffee.” A little too briskly he started toward the front door. “You should stop by the rectory sometime. Maybe we could—”

  “You can’t leave.” Silvie was right on his heels. “Not without… Wouldn’t you like to see for y
ourself how Kadence is doing?”

  Reaching for his jacket, “I really am running late. I only came by to—”

  “Mom?”

  The sound of Kady’s voice stopped Tristan in his tracks. He knew in that instant he was screwed. Excitement coursed through him like a ride at a water park. His heart rate picked up double-time. He suddenly felt anxious, expectant. He couldn’t leave now if he fucking wanted to.

  “Mom?”

  Thoroughly. Unequivocally. Screwed.

  Kady was standing unsteadily at the top of the staircase holding onto the banister with both hands. Barefoot in an ankle-length nightgown, her long hair dwarfing her tiny frame, she looked more like a little girl than a full-grown woman. From her vantage point on the landing she wasn’t able to see anyone but her mother.

  “Oh.” Disappointment squelched her small hope. “I thought I heard…”

  Grateful for her daughter’s impeccable timing Silvie exclaimed, “Sweetheart, look who’s here.”

  Trying to peer further into the foyer Kady dipped her head a little too low and was overcome by a sudden bout of vertigo. As her hand flew up to her forehead she let go of her support, and losing her balance began teetering precariously on the top step.

  Silvie let out a gasp of horror. “Mishka, no!”

  THIRTEEN

  Taking the treads two at a time Tristan bolted up the stairs, reaching Kady just as she pitched forward. He caught her around the waist and she fell deadweight into him, almost knocking them both down the steep staircase. If he hadn’t shot his other hand out to grab the railing they would’ve landed at Silvie’s feet in a heap of tangled limbs.

  For the second time in two days Kady found herself intimately pressed up against the hard length of his body, enclosed within the protective cage of his muscular arms. The threat of danger had long past yet he still continued to hold her, something that didn’t escape either’s notice.