Read Donovan’s Angel for Free Online Page A

ago.”
    Martie thrust out her chin and looked
defiantly up at Paul. “Hang tradition. I came here to play
ball.”
    “Then why don’t you play on my team?” Paul
asked her. He admired her spunk. There was no doubt that this turn
of events would make a few waves among the more conservative church
members, but perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Churches, like
people, could become too tradition bound. And when that happened,
growth stopped. This spunky, high-spirited woman was not only the
best thing that had ever happened to him, she just might be the
best thing that ever happened to this church.
    “Anybody else want to play on my team?” he
asked the group.
    “I’m going to let Martie pave the way,”
Jolene said. “Maybe next time.”
    “Well, shoot,” Sam grumbled. “If I had known
that I was going to be let in on all the fun, I would have worn
something besides this tight skirt and these dad-blamed fussy
shoes.” She punched Martie affectionately on the arm. “Go get ‘em,
girl. Hit a home run for me.”
    “Don’t worry. I intend to.” Martie tugged
Paul’s arm. “Come on, Preach. Let’s play ball.”
    o0o
    Martie didn’t hit one home run. She hit
three. She was like a match in a warehouse full of fireworks: she
ignited the entire assembly of picnickers. The children went wild
with cheering for their colorful new heroine; the liberals, mostly
young men and women with a sprinkling of old-timers here and there,
felt revitalized; and the die-hard conservatives, led by Miss
Beulah and egged on by Miss Essie Mae, searched their vocabularies
for new and appropriate ways to pronounce sin and disgrace.
    “Did you see the way she slid into home
plate?” Miss Beulah sniffed, fanning herself vigorously with a
funeral parlor fan. “Just like a
man
. I do vow and declare
that I don’t know what this younger generation is coming to.” She
nearly toppled her lawn chair as she turned to look at her
companion, Essie Mae Bradford. “Pass me that lemonade, Essie Mae. I
think I’m having a prostration attack.”
    “Lord, Beuler!” Essie Mae always pronounced
Miss Beulah’s name with an
r.
“Hang on. Somebody’ll have
to issue mouth-to-mouth.”
    Her protrusive eyes began to water at the
thought. She had never seen mouth-to-mouth, but she had always
fancied that it would be rather erotic. Hastily she poured the
lemonade and nearly dropped the glass as she passed it to her
friend.
    “Lord, Beuler! Would you just look at that!”
The ball game had ended, and a jubilant Martie had flung her arms
around the Reverend Paul Donovan’s neck. “If that zipper of hers
comes down one more hair, she’ll be showing everything she’s got.”
Essie Mae leaned forward in her lawn chair to get a better view.
“Shameful! Right in the public view. Lord, Beuler!” She clutched
her companion’s arm. “I do believe the preacher likes it!”
    And indeed he did. The woman with the smudged
face and the sparkling eyes who had catapulted herself into his
arms for a victory hug reminded him of a delightful, slightly
naughty child. He squeezed her briefly and set her on her feet, but
that fleeting contact was enough to banish all thoughts of Martie
as a child. The high, perfect breasts pressed against his chest set
his pulse to racing. Quickly he turned to accept the
congratulations of the men on the losing team, but his eyes
followed the sprite in the red jumpsuit. Her laughter floated back
to him like music as she became the center of an admiring
crowd.
    As soon as he could, and with what would
probably be construed as indecent haste, Paul made his way to
Martie. He knew that his life came under close scrutiny because of
his position. Sometimes that bothered him, but not usually. His
faith kept everything in perspective, and through the years he had
developed a remarkable patience that allowed him to weather minor
storms of controversy with a minimum of damage, either to himself
or to his work.
    He linked his arm through