How could he do it! How could her father bring the guy who burned the church into their home for six months? Yeah, it was an accident and her dad’s a minister, but if he wanted to help this man why didn’t he go to the prison to do it? And no matter what anyone says she doesn't watch him every minute they're together!In this excerpt, Clint meets Reverend Amos for the first time. By the way, the guy in the picture is Clint Hayes.
Clint Hayes parked his car in the minister’s driveway and sighed. Six long, dreary months stretched like an eternity in front of him. Reverend Amos would probably make him go to church every time the doors opened, but what did the man intend to do with him the rest of the time? As far as he knew, they only had church on Sundays and Wednesdays. Did the Reverend want help raking his leaves or splitting firewood? Maybe the house needed painting.
Actually, the house didn’t need painting. Its pristine white paint gleamed in the crisp, autumn air. Clint sort of liked the red shutters and the big front porch that ran from one end of the house to the other. The maple trees strewn around the yard blazed in shades of green, gold, and red and made the white house look like a picture in a calendar.
A dog barked in the distance, jerking him back to reality. Sitting in his car wasn’t getting the job done. Sighing, he got out and made his way to the front porch where he rang the doorbell. In a moment, Reverend Amos opened the door. “Hello, Clint. Won’t you come in?”
Reverend Amos stood an inch or so taller than Clint and outweighed him by probably forty pounds. He had dark hair and brown eyes that made Clint uneasy. The preacher didn’t stare at him or anything, but Clint feared Reverend Amos saw right past the front a man presented to the world and looked into his heart—a place Clint had kept private for years.
The preacher stood aside, allowing Clint to enter the lion’s den. He indicated a room on the right. “This is our living room. Come on in.”
The living room looked downright cozy. A fireplace occupied center stage while a brown leather sofa sat in front of a big picture window on the opposite wall. Colorful easy chairs in shades of brown, coral, and green were scattered around the room. A baby grand piano was positioned against the far corner.
A middle‑aged woman with brown hair and plain features rose from the sofa to greet him. “Hello, Clint. I’m Cynthia Amos.” She held out her hand for him to shake.
It made Clint uncomfortable because he never had liked shaking hands with women. With a guy, you could give a nice firm shake and be done with it. With a woman, you never knew what to expect. Some of them acted like shaking hands was a contest of strength, while some held your hand a little bit too long. However, he knew he didn’t have any choice in the matter.
Reverend Amos and his wife took a seat on the sofa. The preacher nodded toward a chair and said, “Have a seat, Clint. I thought we should clarify our expectations for you.”Clint clenched his fists. Here it came. The huge, long list of rules and regulations that he’d dreaded for weeks now. “Yes, sir.”
Reverend Amos didn’ look angry with him like he’d expected. He didn’t hear any condemnation in the man’s voice either. The serious expression on the preacher’s face told Clint he meant what he said, but he wasn’t trying to bully anyone or throw his weight around.