Desert Shadows (9781615952250) Read Online Free PDF

physical contact, I gave the Rev a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s great to see you, too, but I need to warn you that I’m here on business.”
    The Rev let his arms fall and stepped back. Other than a few new wrinkles and a hardly perceptible softening of his jaw line, he looked pretty much like he had when I’d lived with him twenty-five years earlier. Silver now blended with the wild black hair he’d never been able to tame. The deep crow’s feet framing his bright blue eyes merely added to their friendliness. His plaid polyester shirt and slacks looked like they’d been bought at a Salvation Army clearance sale—they probably had—and his rough-out cowboy boots could have used a good cleaning. He had packed on a few pounds, too. Judging from the big silver and turquoise belt buckle (a gift from me) which called attention to his newly plump belly, those pounds didn’t embarrass him one bit. The Rev distrusted vanity, believing it to be one of Satan’s many lures.
    And yet he had always taken great care to compliment me on my own appearance, perhaps because as a child I’d been so self-conscious about my scar. My foster father may have held strong fundamentalist beliefs, but he never let them conflict with his fundamental kindness.
    â€œBusiness, Lena? Don’t tell me you’re investigating Gloriana Alden-Taylor’s death.” His voice took on a note of caution.
    â€œOwen’s been arrested for her murder, Rev. That means I have to ask why you went along on that Oak Creek hike when I know you’ve been up there many times before. With me and your other foster kids, as a matter of fact.”
    He didn’t answer right away, and during his silence, I became aware of the crowd surrounding us.
    A woman with a well-bred Boston accent complained about the dearth of histories on women who’d helped settle the West. “Those miners and cowboys had to marry somebody, didn’t they? Well, where are their wives? Where are their contributions? Why aren’t women even mentioned in any of these books? Why is it always just men, men, men?”
    Nearby, an elderly man grumped that he’d found eighteen typos in the first chapter of the book he’d bought from the SOBOP booth the day before. “Slipshod editing, young man. When I was your age, books came without mistakes like these.”
    But still the Rev said nothing, and his long silence began to worry me. After all, he had been on the hike and must have seen the water hemlock himself. Why was he so loathe to talk about it?
    â€œRev.…”
    â€œYes, I remember taking you kids up to Oak Creek,” he finally answered, his eyes no more eager to meet mine than Owen’s had been. “It’s beautiful up there, all that red rock. Even now, I grasp at any chance to go back again. And then there are the memories. You, Brian, Malik.…”
    Before he could finish recounting those few happy days of my childhood, an elderly woman wearing a purple Stetson and matching ostrich cowboy boots tapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œI need God’s magnificent love,” she said.
    So did I, but it wouldn’t occur to me to go around asking for it.
    The Rev merely smiled. “It’s on special today for only $12.98.” Then, when he saw my face, he began to laugh. “God’s Magnificent Love was my first book and so far, it’s been my best seller.”
    He dug into his pocket and made change for a twenty, then stepped back to the table and picked up a slim volume. “Want me to autograph it for you?” After the woman nodded, he scribbled something onto the title page, then handed it to her. “Enjoy. And remember, Jesus loves you,” he said, as she trundled off, her feet obviously hurting.
    The Rev motioned toward the bookshelves surrounding the table, and for the first time, I noticed his name on several books. God’s Magnificent Love.