Page 1 of Intimately Faithful

PROLOGUE

“And there was his soul returning to his body.” – Danny Murphy

It happened on a Thursday, when his life circled back to the very beginning of everything.

Pastor Danny Murphy, ofthose Murphy’s, originally from the green shores of Galway, Ireland, would remember distinctly it being Thursday after choir practice, if he were asked later on. He’d just finished picking up all the hymn books from the pews when the double doors flew open, as if a great gust of wind had aided the motion from God himself.

He was tired, wanting a beer and his bed but the church was always open if folks were in need.

The cold blew in right after and wrapped around his neck.

What with the snow inches thick on the ground in and around Armado Springs, Colorado, and no signs of it changing any time soon. The weather was terrible and biting every second of the day unless he kept the heating turned to a balmy 70 degrees.

His housekeeper was going to tan his arse when she saw the power bill.

Danny was a little afraid of Cora when she got in one of her snits, which was most every day. Aye, she had a temper, she did.

But the woman could bake like no one’s business and he was a slave to her honied flapjacks.

The blown doors brought in the bitter cold freeze and a person swathed in so much coat it was difficult to discern who or what it was under there.

Only that he knew it was someone looking for refuge from the cold and the Baptist Gospel church was open to all, no matter the time of day or season.

So, he left the stack of song books on the front pew and watched the person struggle to close the ancient wood.

Danny didn’t shudder for the mistreatment of such old, antique historical pieces.

He loved his church, his first and hopefully his for a long time to come, but he loved his community more, and if one was needing help or shelter, he could overlook scratches on doors.

Taking the time to put away his very worn and very well loved fifteen-year-old black Fender guitar in its case, he kept an eye out for his new guest as they slowly made their way down the aisle. Shrouded in white puffy material and a knitted hat pulled low and a scarf wrapped high, only the sway-gait of the person alerted him to the possibility that it was a woman beneath the cloak of clothing.

“Hello.” He smiled in greeting.

Sounds of his home back in Galway threaded through his voice. Sometimes he was told he’d picked up Americanisms from his friends, but it only took one rowdy night of pints of Guinness and manic bouts of darts down atBrannon’spub to have the Irish flowing through him once more, as if he’d never left the green shores years ago.

You can take the man from Galway, as his da says, but you can’t take the Galway from the man. Aye, to be true.

He would always be the alley-rat from back home, no matter how far he went.

Silver rings glinting on his fingers when he brushed his too-long mop of light brown hair from his eyes, he saw a set of crystal emerald eyes follow his hand, pausing as if she was startled to see him. He smiled again to reassure she was safe here.

“Cold out, aye? I can offer you a hot tea. Me mother says I make the best tea in Ireland, but I’m thinking she’s a bit biased. Nevertheless, it will warm you up.”

He heard a muffled hello. The small lump shuffled forward, and Danny finally got a decent look at his guest. From the threadbare tennis shoes, one missing a lace, to the coat with several rips in both sleeves. Lord above, she’d been out in weather like this, dressed like that?

He felt a lurch of sympathy in his chest.

Moving over to the trolley that Cora always left off to the side with a tea urn, cups, plates and a barrel of homemade shortbread, her own family secret recipe he was determined to wrangle out of her one of these days. He poured a tea and dumped in three sugars, not that the woman was in shock, or that he knew of yet, it was just instinct.

“Is there something I can be helping you with?” He asked over his shoulder, hearing a zipper, he popped open the barrel and fisted four biscuits, placing them on a plate.

Of late he’d felt a sense of—he didn’t want to label it detachment, but aye, that was how he felt most mornings when he pulled himself out of bed and went on his typical 7-mile run. Then saw to the day to day running of his church, before he did his daily visits to those most in need in and around his community.

Danny loved his work, but most days—for the past months, and worse still over the holidays, he felt disconnected from everyone and everything. Going through the motions, oh, his faith ever strong, there was no doubt in that. His friends would say he needed to get laid, his mother would assume he longed for a wife and kiddies hanging off his belt loops.

Being a man about to turn thirty and a man of God no less, came with its own troubles and temptations.

He loved his work and would always offer a helping hand as he was offered many moons ago when his heart was black and full of hate. He had a cousin once who came to these shores before Danny. Connor’s life ended long before his time because he got in with a wrong motorcycle club.

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