Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Page 13

  Amy groaned and watched him sashay back out of the room.

  “We shouldn’t encourage his ego.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sister and I are always happy to help out where love’s involved.”

  “It’s not—”

  “We must be going, dear.” Mildred plopped Shayna in Amy’s arms and fairly dragged Opal to her feet.

  Stunned, Amy watched them bustle out of the house. They knew good and well that this was a mere marriage of convenience, but the Bagley widows were apparently rooting for a change in the rules.

  THE WIDOWS HADN’T BEEN GONE long when a rusty old pickup pulled up at the back door.

  Jenny White Cloud got out, carrying a large sack. Nothing like a new baby to bring out a string of company.

  Generally, Amy considered herself a private person, enjoyed solitude. However, with her life in an uproar and the added responsibilities, she was happy and relieved with all the visitors.

  She opened the door, smiling. “Jenny. It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you stopped by. I have something for you. Come in.”

  “I can only stay a minute. I have brought a gift for the child.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course not.” From the bag, she removed a woven blanket.

  “Oh, that’s the one I was working on, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It turned out nice, didn’t it? When we heard about the child, we altered the dimensions so it would be suitable for the babe. It is a good thing that you and Pastor Dan have done. Taking in this child. And the blanket, made partially with your own hands will be a gift the child can pass on to her own children.”

  Amy felt a pang. She wouldn’t be here long enough for a handmade blanket to carry valued memories. Besides, she’d only woven a couple of rows. The rest of the ladies had designed the pattern and done the beautiful work.

  “You know, among our people, we believe that there are no orphans—regardless of race—nor the need for courts and such. We take care of our own. It is good to see others adopting our ways.”

  “Your nephew, Cheyenne Bodine, is still searching to see if Shayna has family that we don’t know about.”

  Amy caught herself hoping he wouldn’t be successful. She looked at the blond-headed, blue-eyed baby. She was a handful, but she was crying less now, adapting. The thought of uprooting her again, having to get used to more strange people, no telling how many more times, was unthinkable.

  Amy’s own life had never been touched with these problems. Sure, she’d been independent and made her own money, but the underlying security was there. Her family had wealth that Shayna’s hadn’t. Poverty had made this child vulnerable.

  Even if she wasn’t around to see to it, Dan would make sure this child prospered. He’d made a promise. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t ever go back on that promise.

  “I have something for you, as well.” With the baby in her arms she hesitated.

  “Here, I would love to hold the child,” Jenny said.

  “Thanks. I haven’t gotten the hang of doing two things at once. Seems I’m a person who needs two hands to clap. I’ll be right back. I want to let Dan know you’re here. He’ll want to thank you for the gift, too.”

  She went to her darkroom and grabbed a folder with photos she’d managed to process in between Shayna’s naps. She couldn’t find time to match her socks, but she developed film. The process soothed her. In this room, she lost herself in the wonder of images that appeared on glossy paper, images she often didn’t even remember capturing.

  “Have a look at these,” she said, putting the folder on the kitchen table, then tearing out of the room to call Dan.

  Sitting at his desk in the study, he lifted his head when she knocked on the door.

  “My turn with the baby?” he asked.

  “No. Jenny White Cloud is here. She brought Shayna a gift. I thought maybe you’d want to say hello.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  He followed her out of the room, then put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She felt his wide palm brush at her backside and jumped.

  He grinned. “You had powder on your butt.”

  “Oh. Thank you. I spilled the formula mix. I’d thought I got it all wiped up.”

  “Evidently you did. Just not in the traditional way.”

  “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

  “You’ll hit your stride.”

  Yes, well, she was going to pay better attention from now on. Her husband was a hunk. Having a baby in the house hadn’t caused him to let his appearance go to the dogs.

  “Hey, Jenny,” he said, bending down to give the small woman a hug.

  “Pastor. It is good to see you. I only stopped by to deliver the blanket your wife made.”

  “I didn’t make it,” Amy objected.

  “When we weave a group blanket, it has the name of all the weavers. Your hands helped in the creation so the fabric bears part of your soul. It will be a treasure in your family, and for the children you wrap in it. They will feel your spirit of love and comfort.”

  She looked at Dan, wondered how he felt about Jenny’s words. He knew she wouldn’t be here long enough for her contribution to a blanket to be considered a treasure. Shayna would probably never even remember her.

  He glanced away and looked at the photographs spread out in front of Jenny. “These are excellent.”

  “Yes, I do not think I can accept them. You will want to save them for yourself, Amy. At least this one,” Jenny said, pointing to the photo of the circle of ladies weaving the blanket. “It shows your blanket.”

  “I have a double print,” Amy admitted. “These are my gift to you.”

  “In that case, I thank you. These are my sister’s children playing in the street,” she said, pointing to the little girls playing hopscotch. “And this one is the husband of my cousin. My cousin is no longer with us, and Joe Little Coyote pines for her. He is our medicine man, and he lost faith in his powers when he could not heal his wife. He has given up hope.”

  It was the photo of the man sitting on the porch.

  “I’m working on restoring that,” Dan said.

  “If anyone can, it will be you, Pastor Dan.” Jenny stood and transferred the baby to him. “I have one more gift.” From the bag, she withdrew a fabric backpack-type sling, which she slipped over Amy’s head and adjusted against her chest.

  “It is for the baby, so you may have your two hands free…to clap if you wish,” she said with a smile.

  “Perfect,” Dan said. “Emily has one of these for the twins. Will it fit me, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, don’t be coveting my gift,” Amy said. “You’re more adept than I am at doing things one-handed. Give me the baby. Let’s try it out.”

  Shayna, obviously happy at being passed around like a doll and the center of attention, waved her arms and kicked her legs, blowing spit bubbles. It took all three of them to wrestle the child into the sling.

  “She can ride facing forward or toward your chest, however you feel comfortable,” Jenny said.

  “She likes to see where she’s going, so let’s try it facing forward first.”

  With holes for her legs and arms, the baby was perfectly supported. Still Amy wrapped an arm across the baby’s stomach for added security.

  Dan adjusted the straps over her shoulders, his knuckles brushing her breasts. It couldn’t be helped.

  Her gaze darted to his, then away. No sense calling attention to such a minor slip—even though she’d been extraordinarily aware of his touch.

  He stepped back and made googly faces at the baby, who kicked her feet against Amy’s stomach.

  “Hey, she’s smiling. I think she likes it.”

  Amy tried to crane her neck to see the smile for herself. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m looking at her. I’m sure. Try it with no hands.”

  “What if she slips out or something. Sh
e’s quite a wiggle worm.”

  “She will not slip,” Jenny said.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Amy took her hand away. The child hung down the front of her and stayed put. “It worked.”

  “Did you expect her to end up on the floor?” Dan asked.

  “If you recall, I’ve seen the results of that type of accident.”

  “There will be no accidents,” Jenny said. “You have a maternal gift.”

  Amy didn’t think that was so but didn’t argue.

  “Thank you for the gifts, Jenny,” Amy said.

  “And thank you. You are welcome in our home anytime. We will make more blankets.”

  “I’d like that.”

  When Jenny gathered up her purse, Dan walked her out to the car.

  “Okay, Shayna. I’m going to take a step. Hold on tight.” As an extra precaution, she put her arm back around the baby and took a few steps. So far so good. Carefully she let go and took another step.

  “Hey, this is pretty slick. You can help me wash the dishes. No, wait. That’s no fun. We’ll teach you to develop pictures. You might get a little scared when I have to turn off the light, but it’ll be okay. I’ll be right there with you, and it’ll only be for a couple of minutes. I have to root around like a raccoon in the dark so I don’t expose the film, but I’m pretty good, and I’m quick about it. And I bet you’ll like the red light in there. It’s very pretty. On second thought, we better start out with easy stuff. You’re a bit little yet to breathe chemical fumes.”

  She turned and saw Dan leaning against the door-jamb, watching her, grinning.

  “Planning to make her a student of photography?”

  She shrugged. “Teach them while they’re young.”

  He pushed away from the wall and crossed the room, his steps slow and measured, his gaze on hers. Spellbound, she couldn’t take her eyes from him.

  Her heart pounded. He was a joy to watch, tall and strong, masculine and sexy. The way he looked at a woman…well, it was exciting. Doubly exciting that the woman he was looking at was her.

  When he stopped within inches of her, his gaze shifted to the baby at her chest.

  She let out a breath. Why in the world had she thought he was coming across the room to kiss her?

  Honestly. The man shouldn’t give off those sexy pheromones if he didn’t mean business.

  And she shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of business in the first place. She owed him more than she could ever repay. Encouraging seduction, on either of their parts, carried too high a price. The price of Dan’s moral conscience—and her own.

  Chapter Ten

  On Valentine’s Day, Amy had been a wife for a month and a mother for two weeks. She was adapting to the second pretty well, but the jury was still out on the first.

  The attraction between her and Dan was heating up. It was getting harder by the day to remember the terms of the marriage, to remember the hands-off policy.

  She was having dreams, vivid dreams, about him very definitely putting his hands on her, and vice versa.

  Picking up the phone, she dialed her mother’s telephone number. She needed to remind herself why she was here. And she needed to make sure her mom was okay.

  When Chandra breathlessly answered after the eighth ring, Amy frowned.

  “Mom. It’s me. Are you all right?”

  “Oh, Amy, it’s lovely to hear your voice. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You sound out of breath.”

  Chandra giggled. Amy blinked. Her mother, terribly shy, normally didn’t giggle. She was soft-spoken, tentative, rarely animated.

  “I’ve just walked in the door and had to run a bit.”

  “Were you in the garden, then?” Chandra found solace among her flowers. They were her friends—those happy pansies and showy hydrangeas. Gramps had built a greenhouse for her so she could have exotic blooms year-round regardless of the weather.

  “Close. I ran over to Hugh Webster’s nursery. My sweet peas were wilting—a fungus, I’d suspected. That man has a way with plants that just makes me want to sigh. He offered me a job, Amy. Can you imagine. I’m a working woman now.”

  Amy sat right down in the closest chair. A job? Her mother?

  “Hugh says I’ve magic in my hands. Imagine that.” She giggled again, the sound breathy. With her mouth hanging open, Amy listened as her mother rattled on, exclaiming over “Hugh this” and “Hugh that,” bouncing back and forth between flowers and the sensuality of earth beneath her “magic” hands and the battery she’d had Zeke at the local garage replace in the Impala.

  Her mother had gone to a repair garage and had the battery replaced? On her own? Amy looked at the calendar, touched the tile countertop, assuring herself she was awake and hadn’t slipped into somebody else’s dream.

  “Zeke says the Impala’s in good shape—which is thanks to your grandfather for taking it in regularly for service. You would have been proud of me, Amy, for doing this on my own. Of course, Hugh had a hand in it. He gave me a pep talk, made me feel so…oh, dear. Here comes Maisy Laird. She’s such a busybody. She’ll want to know why I’ve gone to work after all these years. Gossips. They make me weary.” She took a breath. “You’re doing fine, hon?”

  “Yes.” She barely got the word out before Chandra started talking again.

  “Of course you are. You’re always fine. I must run. Maisy’s pinching my azaleas. She’ll have the bush plucked bare if I don’t stop her. Call me soon. If I’m not here, you can reach me at Hugh’s. I love you, hon. Bye.”

  Somewhat dazed, Amy hung up the phone. Since Shayna was still napping, she decided to work out her confusion in the darkroom.

  Interesting that Chandra hadn’t asked about Amy’s marriage, hadn’t been all fluttery and nervous about the precarious state of her home’s stability.

  It had only been a month, yet without Amy there to take care of her, Mom had gotten a job. And changed the battery in the car. And appeared smitten with Hugh Webster.

  There had been something in Chandra’s voice, an excitement. Over getting a job for the first time in her life? Or the man?

  Amy wasn’t sure how she felt about her mother having a relationship with another man, replacing her dad.

  She was trying so hard to prove that her dad’s choices were good ones. To make his life count. If Mom fell in love with someone else, another piece of Dad would fade away.

  And with her mother’s obvious newfound strength in getting a job, why was Amy here? Married to a man who surely wouldn’t have married her had there been other choices.

  Had she and Gramps been keeping Chandra dependent? Had she encouraged the very thing she found abhorrent?

  Neediness?

  Since she was only sorting through contact sheets, she hadn’t closed the door. Although she had a baby monitor to listen for Shayna’s cries, she still felt better relying on her own hearing.

  A soft knock on the doorjamb had her turning around.

  Dan stood there, looking like a man who’d come courting. In one hand, he held a huge stuffed animal; in the other, a bouquet of red roses. On his face was an expression of masculine pride.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, and handed her the bouquet, setting the floppy teddy bear on the low counter by the washing machine. “The bear’s for Shayna. I know it’s a little big, but I figure she’ll grow into it.”

  The man was obviously a romantic.

  Interesting that she’d just been talking to her mother about flowers, and nurseries—and the man who ran one.

  Touched, Amy buried her nose in the roses. “Thank you. I’ve never received flowers from a man before.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No. I’m not the type of woman who inspires them.”

  “You’re exactly the type of woman who inspires them. Look at you.”

  Yes, look at her. She’d brushed her hair and put on a little makeup, but she was wearing her usual attire of ancient jeans and one of her father’s old shirts hanging o
pen over a T-shirt decorated with baby spit-up.

  “I think we need to get you some spectacles, Pastor. You’ve obviously spent too many nights reading under poor light and have ruined your eyesight.”

  She turned and took down a vase from the overhead cabinet, filled it with water and arranged her roses. In her nervousness, she didn’t take the time to slice the ends off under running water like she’d been taught. Her mother would have tsked.

  She smelled the subtle scent of his sandalwood cologne as he moved behind her, crowding her, the scent vying with the smell of processing chemicals and the heady aroma of the flowers.

  Honestly. This room was her sanctuary. And Dan’s presence in it made her as nervous as a fly in a glue jar.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Dan shifted through the glossy photos in an open folder. Pictures of Shayna, ones of him holding the baby, Mildred and Opal faced off in battle, underlying smirks on their faces.

  Each time he was confronted with her work, he was amazed. She took the ordinary and made it appear spectacular, forever finding the emotional angles in her shots: a lone wolf in the snow with his nose raised to catch a scent; a young buck poised by the frozen stream; their neighbors gazing at their children or spouses with unadulterated love that was nearly palpable; the laughter and tears of the young and old.

  She had talent. A gift. He recalled her impassioned words about her determination to succeed.

  He had no doubt she would. And that very knowledge gave him a punch in the gut. He admired her goals but selfishly lamented what that meant for them, was reminded that she wasn’t his to hold.

  And more and more lately, he wanted to hold her.

  He looked down at her, caught her staring at his mouth. Emotions sizzled. For the time being, she was his wife. Today was the day to celebrate lovers.

  And he was a man with a powerful thirst.

  He touched the smooth alabaster skin of her face, traced the outline of her full lower lip.

  “Dan,” she warned, but her voice didn’t hold any punch.

  “Amy,” he countered, and lowered his head. She smelled of baby powder and processing chemicals.