Love in the WINGS

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Epilogue

thank you

Love in the WINGS

 

 

Delia Latham

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

 

Love in the WINGS

 

COPYRIGHT 2014 by Delia Latham

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

 

eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

 

Contact Information: [email protected]

 

Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.

 

Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

 

White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

www.pelicanbookgroup.com
PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

 

White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

 

Publishing History

First White Rose Edition, 2014

Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-370-4

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

 

In memory of Brenda Talley. Dear friend and sister in Christ. Champion of inspirational romance authors. Encourager extraordinaire. I miss you...but I know you're at peace with Jesus, held in the wings of the One who IS Love.

Save me a place at the table, dear friend!

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

Something dark and unspeakable crept and coiled its way toward Angel Falls, Texas. Invisible to the human eye, it spread itself over the area, twined oily arms around the small town and wrapped it in a suffocating, unholy embrace.

The quaint location looked the same as always. Clean streets fronted well-maintained homes and businesses. In the town square, brightly colored flowers exploded from large planters hanging on each of at least a dozen old-fashioned street lamps. People went about their lives as if nothing had changed. They opened their shops and offices, greeted friends and customers, played their games and made their deals.

Above their heads, the brooding presence hung like a pregnant cloud, from which an occasional tentacle of darkness spiraled downward into specific groups of people.

Near its center, the darkness whirled and pulsed with chaotic energy. This portion of the town's unknown visitor hung directly over a large building topped by a tall steeple. A gold cross towered at the apex of the steeple's point, and the angry cloud seemed unable to hold its shape and density over that gleaming symbol. It tried. Tendrils of darkness twined toward each other, reaching, straining for a grip. But a constant flow of pure, white, bright power foiled every attempt to mend that one weak spot in the roiling entity.

A large sign at the intersection of Halo Street and Harp Avenue identified the steepled building as The Falls Tabernacle. On a large marquee at the front of the property, scrolling letters spelled out a verse of Scripture:
Psalm 91:11—For He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

If any seed of truth lies within those words, there might yet be hope for Angel Falls….

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

Aria Robbins stepped outside the door of her little cottage in the popular Heart's Haven rental complex, and immediately gasped for breath. The air felt weighty, pushing against her with an almost palpable force as she plodded through it to the cheery red pony car waiting in the driveway. She paused, one hand on top of the classic vehicle she babied with quiet pride, the other shading her eyes as she ran a quick visual scan of the complex.

Nothing looked out of place. Hers was the only cottage with a car out front, so the other tenants had gone off to work or play…whatever they did while she worked her two part-time jobs every day. Across the lot, her landlord, eccentric octogenarian Andrew Hart, knelt in one of his treasured flowerbeds, a trowel in one hand. But he wasn't working. Head cocked to the side in a curious, attentive posture, he gazed up into the sky as if studying something in the clouds—except that there were no clouds.

Aria shrugged and climbed behind the wheel. Who knew what Hart was thinking?

Rumor had it the old guy carried on conversations with angels—who actually made themselves visible to him. Well, why not? Angels were real. She couldn't claim to believe the Bible and not believe in God's special messengers. She'd never seen one, but that didn't mean they weren't out there.

As for Hart…well, the old fellow kept mostly to himself, didn't have a lot to say to anyone other than his wife Viv—an outgoing, friendly, utterly sweet woman about as unlike her husband as a wife could possibly be. But they seemed happy, and Aria loved seeing them together. Strange he might be, but old Hart had made Heart's Haven one of the most sought-after rental-cottage complexes in the state. Aria had considered herself blessed when her application was accepted, and she'd moved into the friendly community last month.

She flipped on the air conditioning and turned the dial to high. Little trickles of perspiration slid down the back of her neck, and she shook her head. May was brand new. Her dad would say spring had barely sprung, and yet this heavy heat felt more like late July. Something seemed...
off
. The unseasonal humidity was unlike any she'd ever felt—and Aria was East Texas born and bred. She knew humidity.

Well, heat or not, humidity or whatever, she had a job to get to. Two of them. She loved the work she did at both places of employment, but it had been a tough week, and Aria was firmly on board with the whole TGIF thing today.

Arriving at The Falls Tabernacle, she entered the church office, tossed her purse under the desk and switched on the computer before she even sat down. When her screen opened up, the weird weather and the day of the week became the furthest things from her mind. All she could see, hear, feel or think was focused on the e-mail message plastered in easy-to-read, eighteen-point Helvetica font all the way across the twenty-inch monitor she'd absolutely love-love-
loved…
until this very moment.

Good morning, Aria! I heard this amazing song yesterday. It's phenomenal! Went ahead and picked up the sheet music…which you've already seen right there on your desk, right?

At this point in the unwelcome message, one of those ridiculous, animated smiley faces—moronicons, in Aria-speak—grinned at her like some kind of evil joker.

Her gaze swung from the computer screen to the sheet music centered squarely on her desk blotter. Without meaning to, she took in the song's title: “He is Risen! Risen Indeed.”

She clamped her lip between her teeth and returned her attention to the message.

“So—now that you've checked out the sheet music (because of course that's what you did the moment I mentioned it), have you heard the song? Let me know what you think. Can't wait to hear what the Praise Team does with this one. CB”

Aria snorted. “You have got some nerve, Corbin Bishop!”

Acidity soured her voice, and she cast a quick glance around the office, relieved to find herself still alone. She hadn't meant to say anything out loud, and wished she'd kept her lip zipped. The snarky words had dripped outrage, resulting in an unpleasant sibilance that seemed to echo in the large room. She shuddered as an unwelcome thought made her cringe. Had the serpent sounded something like that when he spat his disastrous lies at Eve in the Garden of Eden?

With a frustrated sigh, she sat and lowered her head into her hands. “God, I don't want to have this kind of attitude. I've always welcomed input about the music ministry. So why do my hackles rise every time
he
gets within a hundred yards of me?” She sighed. “I'm going to need a little help here, Lord.”

She waited, hoping…what? That the Almighty would respond to her petty whining in an audible voice?

“Aria? Is that you?” From the pastor's office, a deep male baritone broke the silence.

Aria bounced two inches off her chair, and then dropped back down, one hand over her pounding heart. Not the voice of God, but it delivered one message quite well: She was not alone in the office, as she'd thought.

“Yes, Pastor David.” Her voice cracked, and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry I'm late.”

The office door swung open and David Myers stepped out of what Aria referred to as the “inner sanctum.”

“No problem. I came in for an early counseling session. You'll be happy to know I've already made coffee.” He grinned. “Sounds like you could use some.”

While Aria silently wished for a hole to drop into and a handy pile of earth to pull over her mortified body, the pastor stepped into a small alcove where all things coffee-related had their home within this office. He took her favorite mug from a cabinet, filled it with the hot brew and carried it to her desk.

“Starting the day off with prayer is a commendable practice. I'm impressed.”

Aria's cheeks warmed under his knowing grin. Pastor David never missed a trick. She nodded miserably. “I need a little spiritual attitude adjustment.”

He dipped his head toward the offensive sheet music still acting as centerpiece for her blotter. “Wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?”

With a wry twist of her lips, she gave him a sideways roll of the eyes. “Why ask, when you already know the answer?”

Sipping at the hot coffee, she fixed her gaze on a bookshelf across the room, waiting for the quiet censure that would surely come. But the pastor just stood there leaning against an ancient metal file cabinet. Arms crossed, a little shadow-smile dancing on his lips, he watched her through eyes she had long since deemed “all seeing.”

Finally, she set her cup on a cloth coaster—or “mug rug,” as her landlord's wife, Vivian Hart, called the brightly colored, handmade creations she was fond of gifting to anyone and everyone for any good reason…or no reason at all. With the hot liquid safely settled, Aria forced herself to make eye contact.

The minister had a green eye and a blue one. Aria had never seen that type of optical anomaly until she met David, and it looked great on him. His wife thought so too…Aria knew, because she spent half of every work day as Pia Myers's assistant—either in her jewelry design studio, or with the thousand and one other things that fell to a pastor's wife to handle. Married only a couple of years, Pia and the pastor still existed under a bit of a newlywed glow. So David's eyes had been the subject of more than one conversation between Aria and his pretty, vivacious bride.

But she was putting off the inevitable. David's eyes had nothing to do with her snippy attitude—or Corbin Bishop's arrogant one, for that matter.

“Does he think I don't know what I'm doing with the praise team?” Why not just lay it out there and be honest about what was bothering her? The pastor would try to help, even if her attitude disappointed him. But even the charismatic David Myers would never be able to make her actually like the new youth minister.

Corbin had swept into Angel Falls a month ago, fresh out of a big, fancy church in Austin and full of big, fancy ideas to improve this one. Aria suspected he'd like nothing better than to make The Falls Tabernacle a miniature duplicate of the famous super church he'd left behind.

From day one, most of the unattached females in the congregation made utter fools of themselves every time the much-too-handsome youth minister walked into a room. Aria would never be one of those pathetic giggle-boxes. Fall all over herself to ensure she caught the eye of the self-assured newcomer? Yeah, sure—on the first frigid day in an East Texas July.

Besides, shouldn't there be some kind of rule about people in the ministry not being overtly attractive? Who needed that type of distraction when a poor, single soul might already be floundering?