Author Bryan M. Powell

A Kerr jar of Lemonade “… he was a fine boy, the kind you wouldn’t mind your daughter bringing home. That is, if you had a daughter.” Miss Bessie’s gaze fell on my ringless hand. She paused and took a sip of lemonade, and narrowed her eyes. “Now Preacher, I don’t think you’ve heard a word I said.”

I felt my ears burn, and knew she was right. She’d been droning on about her sister’s nephew’s son ever since we’d sat down on the porch, and my mind wandered—several times.

Two hours earlier, she’d called. “It’s too lovely outside to be cooped up in your office studying Greek tenses,” she said, her craggy voice conjuring up wicked images.

Her attempt to pry me from my office worked. Indeed, it was a lovely day. And it didn’t take too much persuasion to cause me to close my books and change into something more comfortable. Although sitting…

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