It all happened so fast.. one moment he and Clara were heading to the barn.. the next, Dukey was gesturing towards her feet as the stunned minister tried to grasp what was occurring. Memories flashed inside of various times of stress in his life when he would slip into this panic mode. His parents would resort to giving him a hearty smack across the face. His older brother would flick lit matches at him. His uncle would dip his head in the toilet. All these visions blurred inside his thoughts as her heard frantic voices. Most, his own.. yet one with a different sound and accent. Somehow, some way, Mac mustered the will to lift his hand and give himself a hard smack across his own face, pulling himself instantly out of his daze.<br/><br/>"Shit, sorry. I mean.. yeah, sorry." Grabbing Clara's feet, Mac hoped his language went unnoticed. What the hell, ministers swear! He once received an earful when the minister at his own church caught him filling the fountain with his own.. sort of water.<br/><br/>Seeing Dukey's expression, then seeing the source as Clara's top appeared half unbuttoned, Mac regained his normal composure, suddenly feeling as if the Hand of God was indeed pushing him along. "Dukey! My eyes are on yours. Nowhere else! I'm here to help and here as a man of the cloth. Worry not, my err.. son. Let's get her inside."