Conrad, Kelly - Rogue Preacher (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove) (9 page)

“You want to tell ’em about Jesus’s forgiveness? Go ahead. Tell ’em, Sunset. Save ’em from sin! Lead ’em to salvation! Tell ’em about everything, but not about your whiskey and your lovers! Your
cowboy
lovers!”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, stranger.”

“No? Why don’t you tell ’em about your little rendezvous out behind this tent. I’m sure that’ll interest ’em. After that, tell ’em how many nights we’ve spent together, Sunset. Me and you.” He looked around at the congregation. “I’m one of his
boys,
you see. He’s good, too. Any of you cowboys out there lookin’ for a bed partner, well, you can’t go wrong with Sunset Carson! He’ll keep…”

The cocking of Sunset’s gun was like a blast in the heavy silence of the tent, making the cowboy’s words fade, and his head jerk around to where Sunset stood with his guns drawn and threatening.

“You want a fight, cowboy?” Sunset said. “I’ll be glad to oblige you.”

The cowboy looked at his guns and turned white. He slowly began backing up and pointed at Sunset. “It’s true, Sunset. Everything I said is true, and you know it!”

Sunset said nothing, only pointed the barrel of each gun, and fired two bullets into the ground where the cowboy stood. Cocking his guns again, he backed him up steadily until the cowboy reached the parting of the tent and quickly turned and ran.

Putting his guns back in their holster, Sunset turned and began walking down the aisle. “I know you saw and heard everything that went on here tonight, so I’ll remind you of Jesus’s own words to the people when they caught a woman in adultery.” He hesitated, cut his gaze around, and said, “He who is without sin cast the first stone.”

A heavy silence followed as Sunset continued down the aisle. He walked tall, his stride wide and confident. He expected boos and insults to follow him, but instead he was surprised when the people rose from their seats and applauded him. He didn’t accept or deny the things the cowboy said, he simply left it to the people whether they believed in him or not. In the meantime he refused to bow his head in shame. After all, God had put him in the pulpit, and the people would either reject His choice or accept it.

When Sunset jumped upon the platform, he turned and shouted one word. “Unforgiveness!” While pacing along the platform, he continued. “It is an ugly word that tastes bad on the tongue of a Christian. We must keep in mind that no man on earth is perfect, and if we can’t learn to forgive, we are unlovely in the eyes of God.”

“Amen!” someone shouted.

From there he began preaching a sermon about the woman caught in adultery, actually bringing stones into the tent and allowing the people to throw them at a dummy he had made up beforehand to demonstrate his sermon. The people were totally amazed as they saw the painted up floozy, bound to a crude whipping post, slowly wilt to the ground as if she were dead. It had made the Bible come alive to them and was a dynamic way to demonstrate unforgiveness, which was a sin in the eyes of God.

After putting on his usual bold performance, Sunset was standing around talking to a few people who crowded around him to offer their words of admiration and to shake his hand. When he finished his conversation, he turned to go, but was quickly approached by the reporter who had stood at the sidelines, waiting for him.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man called out. “May I have a moment of your time?”

Sunset turned and saw the man walking toward him.

“My name is Russ Maddox. I work for the
Boston Globe,
where we’ve been hearing some extraordinary things about you. I was hoping to get an interview.”

Sunset was taken by the man’s looks. He was very handsome, with dark eyes and thick lashes that feathered almost seductively. His neat mustache hovered over a mouth that only slightly hid white teeth that seemed to sparkle. Sunset couldn’t help but think that this man was almost too clean, and very husky for the clothes he wore. It seemed as if he would be more comfortable in the usual jeans and boots of a cowboy.

“Is that why you were taking notes?” Sunset asked.

“Yes. I hope that’s all right. I can always destroy the notes if you don’t agree.”

“I have no objection to you writing about the service, but I’ll be leaving in a couple of days. I hope you can get what you need in that time.”

“Sir, it’s you I’m interested in. I would like your permission to write about your life.”

“My life? Why would you want to do that?”

“Why? Because you’re the man behind the miracles.”

“The man behind the miracles? No, I’m sorry, but I’m not the man behind the miracles. God, he’s the man behind the miracles. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? Jesus Christ? I’m nothing but his vessel.”

The man laughed. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “A very humble attitude. Give all the credit to an invisible force.”

“Invisible force?” Sunset said loudly. “Invisible force, my ass! He’s God, creator of all mankind! I’m nothing but a vessel He chooses to use!”

“But, Mr. Carson, you don’t understand. I’m not writing a religious piece here. I’m writing about a man, bold and strong, whose very name means power, strength, and honor! A man with a Bible in one hand and the power of God in the other!”

“Look, Maddox, I’m just a frontier preacher who travels the circuit preaching the gospel. I’m sure your readers will find it very dull.”

“Mr. Carson, do you realize how famous you are?”

“Famous? Me?”

“Yes. Word of your exploits has made it all the way to Boston. I’m not here simply to write about some nobody preacher who preaches watered down sermons. I’m here to write about the man who spits in the devil’s eye. The man who fears nothing, the man who dares to preach with a six-gun in one hand and the Bible in the other. You’re that man, Mr. Carson. You’re the rogue preacher I want to write about.”

“What did you call me?”

“Rogue preacher. That’s what they’re calling you.”

“A rogue, isn’t that someone who…”

“Someone who steps out of the mold others have placed him in. Someone who dares to go against the majority, someone with the grit to do what he wants instead of what others expect—”

“Please, don’t,” Sunset said, waving his hand. “I don’t do what I want, Mr. Maddox. I do what God wants. Maybe my style of preaching is a little different than the eastern preachers, but it’s necessary. Try to see it the way I do. First of all, the Bible is an old book. It’s been preached about, sung about, and read time after time, year after year, and you still see the same old words, the same old message, every time you read it. Sermons are the same. If I’m going to save people, I’ve got to make it as fresh and interesting as I can. My little demonstration here tonight was to involve the people in God’s word. Give them a firsthand knowledge of how it must have been back then. Do you think for a minute that anyone here will ever forget that sermon? They won’t, believe me. Simply because I didn’t give them words or scriptures they had heard all their lives, but because I let them
live
it! They saw it demonstrated! Now it’s in their minds and in their hearts. And who knows, maybe the next time they see a prostitute they’ll be a little bit more forgiving.”

“You’re good, Mr. Carson.”

“Well, I do the best I can, but sometimes the troublemakers make it a little hard.”

“Is that why you wear those guns?”

“I wear these guns to protect myself and my congregation. I might seem a little bold and reckless in your eyes, but being from the East, you may not realize how wild this country is.”

“May I quote you?”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Now, Sunset…uh, may I call you Sunset?”

Sunset nodded.

“If guns are necessary, why don’t all preachers wear them?”

“I don’t know. Whether they do or not is their business. But if they don’t, they’re fools.”

“You may be right, but the picture here is conflicted. On one hand you preach love, but on the other you carry a gun, putting out the message that you’re ready to kill if necessary. Doesn’t the Bible say, ‘Thou shalt not kill’?”

“I don’t wear them to kill, Mr. Maddox. As I said before, it’s only for protection.”

“The fact is you’re a new breed, Sunset. A preacher who handles himself like a gunslinger. A preacher who wears a gun while he’s preaching is not normal, especially a preacher who calls down miracles from heaven with a gun hanging on each hip.”

“Mr. Maddox…”

“Russ, please.”

“Russ,” Sunset continued, “a preacher in this part of the country that doesn’t wear a gun is soon a dead preacher.”

“Possibly. Of course, I’ve seen those that have them close by, but never one that had them hanging around his hips.”

“They probably think that the presence of a gun will ruin their message.”

“I’m sure it would for some preachers, but it doesn’t seem to ruin yours. In fact, a lot of people come just to see you perform and then stay to get saved. I’m sure your god doesn’t care what gets them here. He only cares how they leave. Wouldn’t you say?”

“
My
God?”

“I’m not a religious man, Sunset. Oh, I’m not against religion. I’ve just never seen the need for it. I will say that if I ever did get saved, I’d like it to be with someone like you.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment.”

“Indeed it is, sir.”

“Tell me, Maddox. If I let you write this story, what would I have to do?”

“For the most part, I will observe you night after night until I get what I need from your present-day ministry. After that I would like you to tell me what led you to the ministry. You know, tell me about any ‘burning bush’ in your life, or voice from God. In other words, how did you get your calling?”

“I was a young man of about eighteen. My pa told me to go and get a job. I tried, but no one would hire me. Tired and discouraged, I looked up into the sky and talked to God about it. Being a kid, I senselessly asked Him to hire me since no one else would. He did, and I’ve been working for Him ever since.”

“I’m sure you’re oversimplifying it, sir. It must have been more dramatic than that.”

“It was, but like most reporters, you’re not looking for a story. You’re looking for sensationalism.”

“Like what?”

“Like what happened here tonight.”

“But that’s a reporter’s dream. Surely you wouldn’t ask me not to print it.”

“Why wouldn’t I? He accused me of some awful things, and to see them all twisted up and sensationalized by your pen would be suicide. You’re nuts if you think I would let you print that.”

“But why? He was just a troublemaker. You see them every night.”

“Because there won’t be a grain of truth in it. You’ll blow it up, making it sound worse than it was. That’s what reporters do, isn’t it?”

“Sunset, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I have more integrity than that. I won’t write anything you don’t want me to. I will, however, reserve the right to ask you questions when I need to.”

Sunset gave him a thoughtful look. Finally, he said, “All right. You can write about me if you want, but only as it pertains to my present-day ministry. Nothing else. I don’t want my past mentioned, and I certainly don’t want any of the things you heard here tonight to show up in your article. You can write about anything that goes on in this tent, whether it be miracles, salvation, or even the occasional troublemaker, but that’s where it ends. If you lie, or stretch the truth in any way, I’ll see that you never write again. Is that understood?”

“It is, and thank you.”

“I’ll say goodnight, then.”

As Sunset gave a swift turn and headed toward the back, Russ Maddox’s gaze followed him. He felt something in his groin when he watched the preacher’s confident swagger, and gave his cock a subtle squeeze. The man was as sexy as sin. If what the cowboy said was true, Russ couldn’t leave without giving Sunset Carson a try.

* * * *

Vince stood at the tent opening, watching as Sunset talked to the stranger. He didn’t like the way he kept writing in his notebook, and wondered what Sunset was telling him. He saw Sunset finally turn away and saw how the man watched him as he made his way toward the opening. Suddenly, he wished Sunset didn’t walk with such a sexy swagger or stand tall and strong as his guns hung seductively along his hips. Did he see an interest in the man’s eyes?

“What was that all about?” he asked Sunset.

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Don’t give me that. Tell me. I want to know.”

“I’m telling you it was nothing. The man writes for the
Boston Globe
and was interested in writing about me.”

“You? What did you tell him?”

“I told him it would be okay as long as it was just about the services and nothing else.”

“I don’t like it. If he comes snooping around here, he might find out more than he bargained for.”

“He’s not going to find out anything, so just relax.”

“You wouldn’t tell him anything, would you?”

“I don’t have to. You saw what went on out there tonight. He knows as much as I do.”

Vince felt a chill ride up his spine. Sunset had been quiet here lately, and a little standoffish. Vince knew what that meant. It meant that he might lose Sunset to his so-called god. He knew of only one way to hold on to Sunset, and that was with his body. Sunset was flesh and blood. God was a myth, a fairy tale, a feeling.