Preacher Man
She was a scrupulously maintained illusion of purity, waiting for the one man who wouldn't try to save her soul, but would instead have the strength to own it.
McKenna Davis had arrived at the church three hours early, the model of parochial devotion. The college sophomore had spent the morning in a blur of performative virtue: dropping off two dozen lemon-zest cookies for the church cafe—still warm and wrapped in gingham—and leading the junior high girls' Bible study with a soft, encouraging smile. She had sat in a circle with them, her hands folded over her Bible, speaking of...