Chapter Eight
Padric dropped into another round of pushups at the command of the volunteer training leader, who happened to be Nate Prudhoe. His biceps were burning, not to mention his deltoids and his pecs, and his lats and really just every muscle in his entire torso.
“I thought you were supposed to be my entourage, not my personal torturer,” he grumbled.
“That’s personal trainer to you.” Nate grinned and strolled through the motley group of volunteers. Two women and three men, ranging from eighteen to sixty-three. The youngest had just graduated from high school and the oldest volunteer was a retired longshoreman who was getting bored sitting at home.
Padric reached the end of the set of thirty pushups and sat back on his heels. When Nate made his way back toward him, he muttered, “
