Excerpt of Forbidden Falls by Robyn Carr

Chapter One

Reverend Noah Kincaid had a new church in the tiny town of
Virgin River. His first church since his ordination. It had
all come to pass in a most unusual way. He was surfing the
Internet, killing time, and happened to find a church being
auctioned on Ebay. He’d laughed at the very idea, but was
intrigued; he’d been patiently waiting for an assignment to
a church. A little playing around on the Internet revealed
that everything from yachts to used CD’s were being
auctioned on Ebay. It fascinated him.

Curious, he had taken a little trip down to Virgin River
from the small, private Oregon university in which he had
been teaching for the past year while waiting for a church.
The first thing that struck him was the overwhelming beauty
of the mountains, redwoods and rivers. The town was a little
washed out and the church was a wreck, but there was a
peacefulness and simplicity there he couldn’t dismiss. Or
forget. It seemed uncomplicated, fresh.

He hadn’t needed a key to get inside the church — it was
boarded up and had been abandoned for years, but the side
door wasn’t locked. It had been stripped bare and filled
with years of trash, possible litter from transients who’d
taken shelter there at one time or another. Almost all the
windows had been broken before being covered with plywood.
But when he got to the sanctuary, he had discovered a
stunning stained glass window, boarded from the outside to
keep it safe. It had been left unmolested.

No one really noticed him in the little town; the local men
he’d seen either had hair shorn in military fashion or pony
tails and beards, just like the fishermen Noah had worked
with over the years. He fit right in — he wore scuffed
boots, his jeans were almost white with wear, ripped here
and there, his denim shirt was thin on the elbows and frayed
around the collar and cuffs. His black hair was too long and
curled over his collar; he planned to get it cut the second
he had both time and patience. But for now, he fit right in,
looking like any other laborer after work in lumber, a ranch
hand or farmer. He was fit and honed like the local Virgin
River men; years of working on a fishing boats and dockside,
dragging nets, hauling in tons of fresh catch will do that.

He had driven the neighborhoods in town, which hadn’t taken
long, had a cup of coffee at the only eating establishment,
snapped a few digital pictures and left. He had then
contacted the gravelly voiced old woman who was auctioning
the church on Ebay, Hope McCrea. “That church has been
boarded up for years,” she said. “This town has been without
religion a long time.”

“You sure the town is in want of religion?” Noah asked her.

“Not entirely sure,” she answered. “But it could damn sure
use faith. That church needs to be opened up or razed. An
empty church is bad mojo.”

Noah couldn’t agree more.

He took the idea of buying the church to the Presbytery and
found they’d already been well aware of its existence. He
showed them digital pictures and they agreed, there was
great potential, but the property along with remodeling and
furnishing costs exceeded their budget. Placing a minister
there appealed to them; the population was just the right
size to build a congregation and it was the only church in
town. But the renovation, not to mention the accouterments,
put the cost too high.

Well, Noah had recently come into some money. To him, a
small fortune. He was thirty-five and since the age of
eighteen had been slaving and studying; while attending the
university, he’d worked on boats, docks and fish markets out
of the Port of Seattle. A year ago his mother had passed and
to his surprise, left him a hefty portion of her own
inheritance.

So, he offered to lighten the Presbytery’s financial burden
by taking on the renovation of the church as a donation if
they saw fit to assign him as the pastor. After all, he’d
never gotten used to the idea of having money. The proposal
was an appealing one for the Presbyterian Church.

Noah’s closest friend, and the man responsible for talking
him into the seminary, thought he’d lost his mind. George
was a retired Presbyterian minister who had been teaching
for the last fifteen years. “I can think of a thousand ways
for you to throw away that money,” George had said. “Go to
Las Vegas, put it all on red. Or finance your own mission to
Mexico. If those people needed a pastor, they’d go looking
for one.”

“Funny that church is still standing there, useless, like
its waiting for a rebirth. There must be a reason I happened
to see it on Ebay,” Noah had said. “I’ve never looked at
Ebay before in my life.”

After considerable debating, George had finally said, “If
it’s structurally sound and the price is right, you could
ask to be assigned there. You’ll get a big tax write-off
with the donated renovation cost and a chance to serve a
small, poor congregation in a hick mountain town that
doesn’t get cell phone reception, just like you want.”

“There is no congregation, George,” Noah had reminded him.

“You’ll have to gather one, son. If anyone can do it, you
can. You were born to do it, and before you get all
insulted, I’m not talking about your DNA, I’m talking about
a pure talent. I’ve seen the way you sell fish; I always
thought there was a message there. Go — it’s what you want.
Open your doors and your heart and give it all you’ve got.
Besides, you’re the only ordained minister I know who has
two nickels to rub together.”

So Noah had brokered the deal for the Presbytery and hoped
his mother wasn’t spinning in her grave. She’d always
quietly supported him in running like hell from the ministry.

Noah’s father was a powerful, semi-famous televangelist, and
cold, controlling man. Noah had run away while his mother
could not.

If someone had told Noah seventeen years ago, when he fled
his father’s house at the age of eighteen that he would one
day be a preacher himself, he’d have laughed in their face.
Yet here he was. And he wanted that church. That wreck of a
church in that peaceful, uncomplicated mountain town.

While en route, he called George’s office at the Seattle
Pacific University. Noah was in his fifteen year old RV,
which would be his home for a good, long time, towing his
twenty year old faded blue Ford truck. He placed the call
from his cell phone before the signal was lost in the
mountains and tall trees. “I’m on my way into Virgin River,
George.”

“Well, boy — how does it feel?” George asked with a deep
chuckle in his voice. “Like you pulled off the sweetheart
deal of the century, or like you’ll be dead broke and out in
the street before you know what hit you?”

Noah laughed. “Not sure. I’ll be tapped out by the time the
church is presentable. If I can’t drum up a congregation, I
could be back in Seattle throwing fish before you know it,”
he said, speaking of working the fish market in Seattle’s
downtown wharf. He literally threw large fish across the
market for a customer’s purchase. It was like theater and
where George discovered him. “I’ll get started on the
improvements right away and trust the Presbytery won’t leave
me out in the cold if no one shows up to services. I mean,
if you can’t trust the church...”

That comment was answered with George’s hearty laughter.
“They’re the last ones I’d trust. Those Presbyterians think
too much! I know I didn’t endorse this idea, Noah, but I
wish you well,” George said. “I’m proud of you for taking a
chance.”

“Seems like I don’t know how to do anything else, George.”

“You give those Virgin River beauties a run for their money,
boy.”

“You know it, George,” he said with a laugh.

“Noah,” George said soberly. “Good luck, son. I hope you
find what you’re looking for.”

Noah had a long legacy of living hand to mouth, taking
risks, choosing the toughest way, always proving himself. It
seemed like the only thing he’d ever been completely sure
about was marrying his wife, Merry. When she died five years
ago, he found himself headed for the Seminary in an effort
to find the answers to questions that had no answers. It was
amazing the number of students there for the same reason. It
seemed people studied their own pathology all the time.

But then he’d known that; he had a degree in psychology. Two
degrees, two masters. He looked like a fisherman, but he was
a scholar.

It was the first of July when Noah pulled into Virgin River,
right up to the church. Parked there was a big old Suburban
with the wheels jacked up and covered with mud. Standing
beside it was a tiny old woman with wiry white hair and big
glasses, a cigarette hanging from her lips. She wore great
big tennis shoes that didn’t look like they’d ever been
white and although it was summer, a jacket with torn
pockets. When he parked and got out of his RV, she tossed
the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. One of
Virgin River’s stunning beauties, he thought wryly.

“Reverend Kincaid, I presume?” she said.

He assumed she was looking for someone a bit more refined.
Maybe dressed in khakis and a crisp white button down? Shiny
loafers? Neatly trimmed hair? Clean shaven at least? His
hair was shaggy, his whiskers itchy, a healthy bit of motor
oil on his jeans from that stop a hundred miles back when
he’d had to work on the RV. “Mrs. McCrea,” he answered,
putting out his hand.

She shook it briefly, then put the keys in his palm.
“Welcome. Would you like a tour?”

“Do I need keys?” he asked. “The building wasn’t locked the
last time I was here. I looked it over pretty thoroughly.”

“Of course. I took a run down here before placing a bid on
behalf of the Presbyterian church. The door wasn’t locked so
I helped myself. All the church really needed from you was
the engineer’s report on the structural competence. I gave
them lots of pictures.”

She pushed her over-sized glasses up on her nose. “What are
you, a minister or some kind of secret agent?”

He grinned at her. “Did you think the Presbytery bought it
on faith?”

“I guess I didn’t see any other possibility. Well, if you’re
all set, let’s go in Jack’s — it’s time for my drink.
Doctor’s orders. I’ll front you one.”

“Did the doctor order the smokes, too?” he asked with a smile.

“You’re damn straight, sonny. Don’t start on me.”

“I gotta meet this doctor,” Noah muttered, following her.

She stopped abruptly, looked at him over her shoulder as she
pushed her glasses up on her nose and said, “He’s dead.” And
with that she turned and stomped into Jack’s bar — the only
place in Virgin River to get a drink or a meal. Or, as Noah
remembered from his visit, an orgasmic piece of pie.