Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Read online

  “You better go get her bathed or this roast will be tough as a sow’s snout.”

  AFTER DINNER, when Shayna was asleep in bed, Dan pulled down the folding attic stairs and they climbed up to the loft.

  It was spacious enough to stand up, could have been a third story on the house. Not that it was needed. The house was huge as it was.

  A thick layer of dust covered every surface, stirring as they walked across the creaky plank floor.

  “You were right,” he said, nodding toward the corner. “There’s the high chair.”

  Cobwebs clung to the wood tray, covered the fabric safety belt like an army of mealybugs. A soapy washcloth would set things to right.

  “Contrary to my brave words, spiders give me the willies, so you’re on your own moving this thing.”

  He grinned and winked. “I’ll protect you.”

  “My hero.” Picking her way across the squeaking floor, she ran her hand over an old cedar chest and wiped her dusty hand on the seat of her jeans.

  “Seems a shame to keep a piece of furniture this beautiful tucked away up here.”

  “Do you have any idea how heavy that thing is? I’m not muscling it down those stairs. It can just stay up here and beautify the attic.”

  He came up beside her, bent down to lift the lid on the chest.

  “Hey, look at all this stuff. I wondered where these old trophies went.”

  “Football?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted a tarnished award. “Most valuable player. Pretty cool, huh?”

  Typical guy. “What position did you play?”

  “Defensive line.”

  Mmm. Which explained the linebacker shoulders. She picked up a photo album, opened the leather cover. “Now, this is a shame to hide away. Even I’ve got enough muscles to get this downstairs.”

  He took the album from her, sat down and patted the floor next to him. “Pull up a board and have a seat.”

  She checked for crawly insects, then sat crossed-legged beside him, bending over his shoulder as he turned the pages depicting his family history.

  There were tons of family pictures, from boyhood to adulthood. He looked more like his mother, a beautiful woman with a smile that lit her face as though she laughed often and well. Just like Dan.

  Phil Lucas and the other two sons, David and Phillip Jr. looked like their father, tall and slim, more reserved.

  “After living here so long, why did your dad leave?”

  “He was offered a bigger ministry in Wyoming. By that time, I’d completed Bible college, and took over the church here.”

  “Your brothers weren’t interested?”

  “David was already established in Missoula. Phillip opted to go with Dad as assistant pastor. I think they knew that this was my dream.”

  “Must be confusing for your dad’s congregation with two Pastor Lucases.”

  “Phillip never shortened his name—though I call him Pip. He beat the heck out of me a couple of times, especially when I shouted it across the field when he was putting the moves on Sally Roscoe, but when that didn’t curb my ornery streak, he gave up.”

  “You fought?”

  “Sure. That’s what brothers do.”

  She wouldn’t know, being an only child. She envied his memories, his complete family.

  “So, what happened to Sally Roscoe?”

  “He married her. Ah, now we come to my rowdy days. Recognize these guys?”

  Wyatt Malone, Ethan, Grant and Clay Callahan, Stony Stratton, Chance Hammond and Dan.

  “We were quite a group.”

  “Who’s this?” she asked, pointing to a geeky boy who hadn’t quite grown into his protruding Adam’s apple.

  “Eddie Housen.”

  The guy with the snowplow who didn’t have sense enough to take the keys out of the ignition, making it too much of a temptation for teenage boys to resist.

  The next picture showed the eight guys wearing illfitting suits and looking like they were facing the barrel of a rifle rather than the lens of a camera.

  Dan laughed over it. “My mother took this picture, since she rarely saw us all dressed up at the same time. She had no idea we were so hungover we could barely stand the lingering smell of bacon in the air—or maybe she did know and that’s why she’d had every one of us sitting down to eat a big meal before the funeral.”

  “You were hungover at a funeral?”

  “Yes. My Great-Uncle Earl’s. Me and the guys had gone out to the cemetery the night before. Uncle Earl was a cool guy, and he loved his Wild Turkey, so we decided he’d appreciate us drinking a toast to him. The grave was already dug for the funeral scheduled the next day. We got ourselves two twelve-packs of beer and took turns making toasts—there were a lot of memories to drink to.”

  He laughed again. “I swear somebody must have pushed me—my recollection at that time was a little fuzzy. The guys claim I tipped back my beer bottle, and the next thing they knew I’d toppled face first into the grave.”

  She sucked in a breath, choked on a laugh. “You didn’t.”

  “Big as you please.”

  “What did they do?”

  “Just stared in like a bunch of drunk idiots. Said, ‘Hey, dude, you okay in there?”’

  She laughed at his mimic of his friends. “How’d you get out?”

  “It wasn’t easy. We got to laughing so hard the groundskeeper came shining his flashlight. Since we were disrespecting the dead and my father would be praying over Uncle Earl’s soul the next day, the guys hauled my butt out of that hole and made a huddle around me as we slunk off. They figured I had the most to lose if the groundskeeper recognized me and told my dad. We must have looked like a football team doing a running sidestep huddle.”

  “You were a bad boy.”

  “Everybody’s got a past.” He closed the album. “What about you? What kind of teenager were you? Cheerleader? Prom queen?”

  “No. Photography club. I did actually have a debutante ball at the country club when I was seventeen. Grandpa and Mom insisted. They were big on keeping up appearances.”

  “And you just wanted to be left alone with your cameras and dreams of faraway worlds.”

  “Mmm-hum.”

  “Next came college?”

  “Georgia State. Then a job at the town newspaper.”

  “If you were already employed, how did the cocktail waitress job come about?”

  “The newspaper didn’t pay squat. My tips at the bar were obscenely huge.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have used the word obscene, given the type of place she’d worked in. She glanced at him to see if he’d judge.

  His expression was open and interested.

  “Your traveling fund,” he said with a nod. “Your grandfather held the deed on the house. Did he pay the expenses as well?”

  “Yes. My mom was…dependent, pampered, I suppose. She had a lot of trouble making even the simplest decision on her own. I watched out for her when Dad was traveling. When Dad died, Gramps came to the rescue, determined to take care of both of us. He liked being in control. Then again, so did I, and I’d been doing it for so many years I chaffed a bit against the interference. Which was why we probably butted heads. He wanted to hold the purse strings until I came to my senses and settled down with a nice man and took my place in society like he believed I should.”

  Dan watched her clasp her hands in her lap. Beneath the oversize casual clothes was a gloss that came from education and wealth.

  Which made the situation they were in seem unreal.

  Her entire inheritance, her mother’s home, rested on their three-month sojourn in marriage, ninety short days that would come to an end in less that three weeks.

  She was basically an heiress, and Dan now held the key to her fortune.

  Why would a man who’d obviously loved her not support her dreams? See her talent?

  “Did you ever show your grandfather your work?”

  “A long time ago. It brought up bad feelings about Dad. So, I k
ept it low-key.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  She shrugged. “Not your problem.”

  “So, it’s been up to you to keep things running smooth.”

  “I guess it has. Though I was a little surprised the last time I talked to my mom. She’s gotten a job at the local nursery. Something in her voice tells me she’s smitten with the owner.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “It shouldn’t. I think it does.”

  It seemed they were both people who took more responsibility on their shoulders than the average folk. And they both took those responsibilities seriously.

  Loyal to a fault.

  Which explained Amy’s loyalty to her father. Why she worried about another man taking her father’s place. Why she worried about missing an opportunity to make a name for herself, as Amy Marshall, Mark Marshall’s daughter.

  Her tribute to the man who’d saved Dan’s father’s life.

  Because of that, one part of him was rooting for her.

  The other part, the selfish part, was rooting for him and Shayna.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was Dan’s turn to get up with the baby. As he held the bottle steady in Shayna’s mouth, he gazed down at her, his heart squeezing.

  Ever since Cheyenne’s call, he’d been chomping at the bit to make good on his promise, to put the wheels in motion to give this child his name, to fulfill his obligation.

  Although he didn’t view it as an obligation.

  Like his wife, this little baby had wormed her way into his heart.

  He couldn’t imagine letting her go, couldn’t imagine how he had ever got along without her.

  He wanted to watch her grow, get her first tooth, take her first step, hold her hand on her first day of kindergarten, watch her fall in love, walk her down the aisle when she joined her life with a man who—he’d make darn sure—would love her and give her the life she deserved.

  He wanted a family.

  He’d been dedicated to the church and this town for so long. After his breakup with Glenda, he’d felt it wasn’t fair to have a relationship that he couldn’t give one hundred percent to, so he’d put it out of his mind, never pursued one.

  Now an entire family had been dropped into his life, uninvited—first a wife, then a baby, obligating him to carve out time to dedicate to them.

  He’d found that it was working. Better than he’d ever imagined.

  A family didn’t take time away from who he was or what he did.

  The overwhelming feelings he had for Amy and Shayna reminded him that he’d been lonely for a very long time now. He’d just never stopped to recognize it.

  More than anything, Amy’s presence in his life had pointed that out to him. She was persistent, outgoing, sexy. She made him laugh, and she made him burn.

  He glanced up as the object of his thoughts came into the room. She wore a silk robe belted at the waist. Beneath, he knew she was naked. The knowledge made his heart beat like a drum.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft from sleep.

  “Fine. Seems like she should be sleeping through the night by now.”

  “I asked Emily about that. The twins still wake up, but that could be because there’s two of them. One bothers the other and then they’re both up.”

  She came over next to the rocking chair, lowered herself to the floor at his feet, hooked an arm over his knee with an easy familiarity he doubted she even realized.

  He wished someone was here to grab her camera, snap a picture of the three of them.

  A family. Rocking the baby in the still of the night.

  “When I took Shayna in for a checkup with Chance, he said all babies advance at different rates.”

  With her arm still on his knee, she reached with her other hand to stroke the baby’s foot. The feel of her breast pressing against his leg was giving him fits.

  “Do you think she still misses Lyssa?”

  “Maybe.” He concentrated on the child in his arms rather than the sexy woman at his feet. “I think she knows she’s safe, though.”

  Amy smiled. “Then maybe she just misses you and can’t go more than a few hours without seeing your face.”

  “What about your face?” he asked carefully.

  She didn’t seem to pick up on his tone. “Oh, your face is much more handsome. You don’t forget to take off your mascara and scare her silly with dark circles under your eyes.”

  “Probably because I don’t wear mascara.”

  “There is that. Did you want me to spell you? I know you’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You forget I made out your schedule.”

  “Yes, and I can’t believe you told Thelma Goodman I’d go sit with her while she has her bunions removed.”

  She grinned. “She’s apprehensive about the surgery.”

  He snorted. “It’s hardly surgery. She’s a hypochondriac.”

  “Shame on you.”

  He sighed. “Yes, well, why don’t you go sit with her?”

  “Because she asked for you. And I’ve got the Easter committee to deal with. Emily has grand plans. Somebody needs to be there to rein her in.”

  “Good luck,” he said with a laugh that caused Shayna to let go of the nipple of the bottle and grin, milk dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. “You should have seen what she did for the live nativity at Christmastime. We had a traffic jam from Main Street halfway to Billings.”

  “Well, then, I hope you have an in with a chicken farmer. She’s advertising an Easter-egg hunt on the church lawn the Saturday before Easter. I thought it’d make more sense to hold it after the holiday services, or even before, to encourage more people to come hear you preach. I guess there’s some other do planned at the Strattons’, a sort of tradition, I’m told. Plus, it was pointed out that you’d likely have to move the services since the church wouldn’t hold all the extra people. Which doesn’t seem like a real hardship to me. I can picture you, standing at the top of Shotgun Ridge Hill, right where Addie Malone stood, preaching to the masses.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t do my reputation any good to hold a gun on the parishioners.”

  She laughed softly and whacked him on the thigh.

  “You don’t need a gun, Dan. Your charisma is more potent and persuasive than any weapon.”

  “Hmm. I like compliments.”

  “It’s that ego.”

  He laughed softly. “If you want to change traditions, go for it. I’ll adapt. You might be onto something with Shotgun Ridge though. Instead of the Sermon on the Mount, we’ll have a sunrise sermon on the ridge.”

  Whatever he said caused a look of distress to come over her face.

  Tradition, he realized. He could almost read her mind. She didn’t believe she had the right to change town tradition when she was only temporary.

  Doggone it. Why the heck hadn’t he stopped while he was ahead?

  “YOU’RE NOT GOING to believe what kind of a day I’ve had.”

  Dan laid down his pen, watched her stroll into the study, glancing at a brochure in her hand. She didn’t pause, didn’t think to ask if she was interrupting, just launched into speech, talking a mile a minute in that Southern voice that put extra syllables on every word. It’s a wonder she could gather this much speed.

  “I’ve read ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ a dozen times, but never thought to see it. That silly goat of Hannah’s followed her right over to the Callahans. That’s where we were meeting today because Ryan had a cold—he slept upstairs, so Shayna wasn’t exposed, or any of the other kids for that matter,” she said lest he need assurance.

  He didn’t. Amy was like a mother hen when it came to Shayna.

  “Anyway, I swear to goodness, the Callahans’ house is something else! I’ve never seen so many extravagant, big-boy toys in my life. They’ve got a media center that’s a bookshelf on one side, and with the touch of a button, the whole wall changes aroun
d like something out of Batman’s cave and there it is. Amplifiers and speakers and all manner of decadent equipment…” She stopped, gave him a sheepish grin.

  “I imagine you know that, don’t you?”

  Excitement glowed on that remarkable face. She simply mesmerized him.

  She’d adapted to this town, these people—his world—so easily. Pride and love swelled in him, bittersweet emotions that made his heart sing yet pound in dread.

  He could lose her. Lose the bright light she shone over his life, a light that bathed him in yearning.

  As he gazed into her animated face, everything he wanted, everything he’d never known he dreamed of, melted together in that one moment, that one woman.

  She was standing by his side, her thigh nearly brushing his. He pushed his chair back, stood up.

  There was one area where they were one hundred percent compatible. And he wasn’t above using it to hold the clawing beast inside him at bay, the raw, fearful emotions he tried to ignore when he thought about her leaving, taking away the light.

  His hands weren’t as gentle as he’d have liked when he maneuvered her in front of him.

  He had a moment of satisfaction at her hum of surprise, her sigh of surrender.

  And then his hands were on her face, in her hair, his mouth on hers as need fed on need.

  She made him crave her to a point that nothing else mattered.

  He meant to take it slow, to savor, but the minute her lips opened under his, greed engulfed him. He hoisted her up on the desk, planted his palms on either side of her, trapping her, uncaring of the papers scattered there.

  She gave a muffled cry, both thrill and shock.

  He wasn’t sure where his aggression came from. It was that mobile mouth beneath his, he decided, her utter, liquid surrender. It made a man feel like a king.

  It made him want to rule, to control, to see how far he could push before she pushed back.

  Because when Amy pushed back, when she threw herself into the moment, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced…and everything he’d ever experienced all rolled into one.

  “Did you lock the front door?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  His lips cruised over her neck, drawing a moan. “The baby?”