Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Page 6

  At a silent nod from her husband, Lloyd, Iris accepted Amy’s offer.

  “Bless you, hon—oh, Eden and Stony are here at last. I was beginning to worry. I should at least stay and introduce you.”

  A woman holding a chubby baby wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket came in, flanked by an incredibly tall cowboy gently gripping the hand of an energetic, pixy of a girl around six.

  “Go,” Amy coached. “I can do my own introducing. As you can see, I’m not exactly the shy type.”

  Iris gave her a quick hug. “I think I’m going to like you, Amy Marshall.” And with that, she rushed off to feed the hungry, leaving Amy a little stunned by the spontaneous show of affection.

  Eden took one look at Amy behind the bar and headed straight over. “Hey, there. I’m Eden Stratton. The tall, silent guy here, is my husband, Stony.”

  “Amy Marshall.”

  “Lord have mercy, y’all are hoppin’ tonight. Who ordered a population explosion when I wasn’t looking?”

  A fellow Southerner, Amy thought. She didn’t know why, but for some reason that made her feel more at home.

  “I was told you either had to be here or you’re out of the loop. I guess folks take that kind of serious.”

  Eden laughed and handed the baby in her arms to her husband. “That they do. Go talk boy stuff, Stony. I’ll just slip in here and make myself useful.”

  The child was nearly swallowed up in the tall cowboy’s arms. He smiled indulgently at his wife, yet cautioned, “Don’t overdo.”

  A special look passed between husband and wife. “Don’t fuss, now.”

  Shaking his head, he pressed a kiss to her temple and went off to join friends.

  Amy stared. What would it be like to have a man be so devoted to her? To love her so deeply the whole world could see it?

  She shook away the thought. She wasn’t looking for love. She had a career waiting for her.

  “How old’s the baby?”

  “Five months. Sarah’s a joy. She does, however, cause us to be unforgivably late on occasion.” Eden snagged an apron from behind the bar.

  “Are you a waitress, then?” Amy asked.

  “A caterer by trade, actually. I’m in charge of the dessert menu here. But I’m happy to pitch in when Iris gets swamped. The woman would sooner eat a bug than ask for help.”

  “I heard that,” Iris said, bustling back to the bar with a list of orders. “Eden Stratton, you’re in no condition to be working.”

  “Would everyone quit fussing?” She turned to Amy. “Sarah’s my miracle baby. I wasn’t sure I’d even get the chance to have her. Now we’ve just found out I’m expecting again. What everyone around here doesn’t seem to realize is that it’s when I’m not pregnant that they should worry. A little problem with anemia and such. When I’m in the family way, I blossom.”

  “Well, you should be blossoming at the table with your husband,” Iris admonished. “Did you meet Amy? She came with Dan. And before you ask any questions, Dan’s already warned us off. Some mysterious thing he intends to tell the lot of us about. I’ve a mind to pump her for information, but my manners won’t let me.”

  “Mine will.” Eden tied on the apron, her smile letting Amy know that she was just kidding. That she respected whatever boundaries had been set.

  “Shame, shame,” Dan said from behind them. “There’s nothing secret going on. You know how I like to stand up in front of folks and sermonize. Amy’s simply indulging my need to play to an audience.”

  “The man’s so modest,” Eden said, going up on tiptoe to press a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “However, he does have a gift for gab and showmanship.”

  Amy felt a little out of place. These people knew Dan, had grown up with him most likely. And here she was, fixing to become his wife. And she didn’t know a thing about him.

  Dan slipped behind the bar and moved next to Amy. When he’d looked up and seen her gone from the table, he’d had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach, a moment of panic that she’d skipped town as suddenly as she’d breezed into it. The jolt of emotion puzzled him, but he left it alone.

  “It appears to be getting more crowded behind this bar than out on the floor,” Amy said, even though Eden and Iris had bustled away and it was only the two of them left. “Would you go sit down and make it easier on your waitress? It’s tough when she takes your order and you won’t stay in one place.”

  “Speaking from the voice of experience?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” She gave him a look that made him sweat, made his mind conjure images of what she’d look like wearing a skimpy waitress outfit. An outfit appropriate for a gentleman’s club.

  Oh, man.

  He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d better make sure you understood the meal was on me. Didn’t want you thinking you had to work for your supper if your funds were low.”

  “My funds are fine. Iris needed the help and I happen to be fairly adept at serving.”

  “Dressed a bit differently, I’m sure.” Oh, brother. He hadn’t meant to voice that teasing thought. Why had he, he wondered when he saw her eyes widen.

  Maybe because he had so much admiration going on inside, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Not many women would come to a town and blend in and help out when they hardly knew anyone’s name. “You’re a good person, Amy.”

  She shrugged.

  “No, I mean it. You saw that Iris needed a hand and you lent it without hesitation.”

  She busied herself loading a tray with drink orders, and he noted that her hands were trembling slightly.

  “She reminds me of my grandmother.” Sadness tinged her voice and something more, something he couldn’t identify. Yearning? A need to belong?

  He stared at her for another minute, then grabbed the tray filled with sodas and a couple mugs of beer. He had the next three months to find out what made Amy Marshall tick. Right now, he could tell she was holding on by a thread and doing her darnedest to appear otherwise. “Which table do these go to?”

  “Horning in on my tips, Preacher?”

  “Now that you mention it, that’s a great idea. I’ll add it to the church collection plate and folks won’t even know they’ve given twice.”

  “Oh, now you’ve done it. How can I begrudge the church money in favor of my traveling fund?”

  Her smile was devilish, but he knew good and well she wasn’t helping out for monetary gain. There was a sweetness about her. A need to please others that he’d be willing to bet warred with her need to please herself.

  He couldn’t pinpoint why this woman intrigued him so much. But she did.

  And that Southern drawl, the way she put an extra syllable to nearly every word, made him want to keep her talking just so he could hear it.

  Before he made a fool out of himself, he hoisted the drink tray, balanced it on one palm and set out across the room to do a little showing off, laughing out loud in anticipation of the good-natured teasing he’d no doubt get.

  He should have been an entertainer, he thought with another laugh.

  AMY ATE HER SECOND hamburger of the day, her nerves so raw she’d likely be up all night with indigestion. Long tables had been set up in the back as though Dan and his neighbors had requested a private banquet.

  This was a very close-knit group, she realized. Children raced around like frolicking rabbits, happily outrunning an imaginary fox. Babies fussed and were soothed by the closest set of arms—usually male. The sight touched Amy’s heart.

  When everyone had finished their meal, Dan, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

  Caught off guard, adrenaline shot straight to her head. He was about to make the announcement. “Now?”

  “Have pity on my neighbors. We’ve made them so curious, they’re about to burst but are too polite to say so. Do you want to stand up with me?”

  “No!”

  He squeezed her hand again and scooted his chair back.

  Amy couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, de
sperately, she wanted out of here. Why hadn’t she left earlier? Pleaded exhaustion, let him deal with this on his own so she wouldn’t have to be in the spotlight, search for censure in the faces around her?

  But that was cowardly. And the reaction of these people was important. If Dan was going to run into opposition, she needed to know, to stand by him as he’d agreed to do for her.

  “Okay, everyone. Listen up.”

  The sudden silence in the room was nearly comical, evidence that they’d all been waiting with bated breath for this moment.

  Dan grinned. “Never say I don’t know how to work a crowd.”

  Groans and comments about his head swelling too big to fit beneath his Stetson were bandied about. Caught up in the moment, Amy felt her nerves abating.

  The exclusive look Dan aimed down at her told her he was attempting to do just that. That if she put herself in his hands she’d be fine; he’d be strong enough for the both of them.

  A giddy feeling of excitement stirred in her stomach. This was a take-charge man. Strength radiated from him. He’d be the kind of ally a person would want covering their back.

  Why did she keep getting those feelings of needing him, depending on him, when she was a woman who prided herself on not needing or depending on anyone but herself?

  “You’ve all met Amy Marshall by now, and you’re itching to know why she’s here—not that a person can’t just come to our fine town for no other reason than that we’re a great group of people.”

  Everyone chuckled and glanced at Ozzie Peyton and his pals.

  “You’re all friends. I’ve talked this over with the church board, and for once, Ozzie, I’m glad to see you boys could mind your tongues and not upstage me on the news. Amy and I are going to be married this Saturday.”

  The murmurs among his friends were congratulatory rather than judgmental. Still Amy felt a rush of heat to her face.

  “I know it all seems very sudden—and it is. So, let me tell you a story about sacrifice and selflessness,” he began.

  Amy’s nails bit into her palm as she squeezed her fists in her lap, heart pounding. But as words poured out of him, she forgot all about her nerves.

  She’d thought she’d feel conspicuous. Instead, as Dan told the story of their fathers fishing together—Amy’s father saving a life despite the danger to his own, the emotions they must have been feeling, the pact they’d made—she listened, caught up in the story, even forgetting that it was her father he spoke about.

  He knew how to hold an audience, knew how to paint a picture with words, evoke an emotion. By the time he got to the terms of the will, there didn’t appear to be a person in the room who wasn’t ready to march them right over to the courthouse to make sure Amy’s mother didn’t lose the family home.

  Acceptance.

  When he finished, he drew her up to stand beside him, casually looping his arm around her shoulders. Amy thought this might be a bit much, given the circumstance, but she didn’t pull away.

  Neighbors and friends gathered around to offer congratulations.

  A striking woman, who Amy had been dying to meet but hadn’t gotten the opportunity to yet, stepped up and took Amy’s hand.

  “That was a moving story. Even more so for those of us who lived here in the days Phil Lucas was pastor of the church. We’ve not met, but I’m Judith Hammond. Chance Hammond, that good-looking doctor over there, is my son.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you,” Amy said. “I know and admire your work.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Judith graciously accepted the compliment but didn’t make a big deal. One would never know this woman was a famous artist. Like the rest of the crowd, she was totally genuine.

  “My husband and I extended our vacation well past the New Year. We came to attend our son’s wedding and to get to know our new daughter-in-law and granddaughters. Heaven knows, we tried to convince Chance and Kelly to take advantage of us and scoot off on a honeymoon, but they’re worried about the health of the community, and the best we could do was entertain and spoil the children, Jessica and little Kimberly.” She gazed lovingly at Chance and Kelly.

  “This is tacky, I admit, but what I’m leading up to is that I adore weddings. And two of them in a matter of weeks is too delicious to resist. Would it be awfully presumptuous of us to attend?”

  Amy didn’t know what to say. She knew Judith Hammond by reputation. The woman painted wonderfully whimsical fairies, had her own art gallery in Helena. It would be like having a celebrity at her wedding. She recalled that Judith was originally from Shotgun Ridge. And being such a close-knit community, it was natural to expect that you’d have a standing, open invitation to all the important goings-on.

  Like a wedding between the preacher and a cocktail waitress—albeit a waitress who aspired to have as recognizable a name in the arts as Judith Hammond did.

  But this wasn’t a real wedding. It should be a small affair and not involve the entire town.

  She looked at Dan for guidance, but good Southern manners had her saying, “Of course you’re invited. We’re scheduled for eleven o’clock at the courthouse.”

  “Not the church?” Judith glanced at Dan, who shrugged.

  “It seemed easier,” Amy said quickly. “Since Dan can’t very well perform his own ceremony.”

  Amy had been adamant on that point, though. Somehow, it made it less…immoral by marrying at the courthouse instead of the church. Maybe less real was what she was thinking. Less of a moral dilemma for Dan. Although, she had to admit that she was actually the one creating mounds of guilt over what they were doing. Dan seemed to simply roll with the punches.

  She hadn’t counted on the masses to want to show up as witnesses, though. My gosh, she hadn’t even invited her own mother, yet everybody else’s mother planned to be there.

  She and Dan had agreed that since time was of the essence, it wouldn’t be fair to encourage their families to drop what they were doing and rush to town. Dan’s mother was committed to teach Sunday school, his father had a sermon to preach in his own church on Sunday, and Amy’s mother…well, getting Chandra from one place to the next on her own would be a challenge. Amy didn’t think her mother had ever made airline reservations or traveled by herself on vacation.

  So they would go on without them. A simple ceremony to fulfill the terms of the will.

  How in the world had this whole fiasco mushroomed into such an event?

  And why didn’t anybody think to bat an eye or raise an objection?

  Chapter Five

  With her belongings once again packed in her Jeep, Amy arrived at the courthouse a little before eleven and promptly hid out in the rest room.

  Not that she was worried about any of the silly bad-luck superstitions over seeing the groom before the ceremony.

  Honestly, she was marrying the preacher. He probably didn’t even believe in superstitions.

  Oh, Lord. Every time she thought about what she was fixing to do, nausea roiled in her stomach like waking up with a hangover to the smell of breakfast cooking.

  She smoothed a hand over her stomach and checked her reflection in the mirror. Since she’d set out on a mission she’d prayed would end in marriage, she’d packed a simple dress in anticipation of the ceremony.

  The powder-blue sheath had a fine silk mesh overlay that gave respectability to the low-cut bustline, stretching over the crepe in a mock-turtleneck style with close-fitting sleeves. The hem ended about an inch above her knees, which was perfectly respectable, she told herself. Everything else in her closet that was halfway dressy and suitable for winter had seemed inappropriate. The red wool was too racy. The basic black too somber. The khaki too drab.

  But was this okay?

  Oh, damn it, she looked like a robin’s egg wrapped in the backyard hammock.

  Maybe she was making too much of this. Maybe she should have just worn a pair of slacks and a nice sweater. She was on her way to the car, intending to tear through her suitcases and find a change of
clothing when Ozzie intercepted her.

  “Well, now, you’re lookin’ pretty as a breath of spring, you bet.”

  Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Are you sure? It’s not too much?” Given the circumstances.

  Ozzie drew her arm into the crook of his elbow in a fatherly gesture and patted her hand. “Now, don’t go gettin’ all fussy on me. Why, my Vanessa used to change clothes three times before she’d settle on a church dress that suited her mood. Always did end up wearing the one she’d had on in the first place, you bet. Goes to show you should pay attention to your instincts and be done with it.”

  Amy sighed. “If I paid attention to my instincts, I’d be in my Jeep and halfway through Wyoming by now.”

  Ozzie gazed down at her, his vivid blue eyes filled with compassion. “You never know what the good Lord has in mind when we find ourselves in the middle of a scary new venture, but over all my years of livin’—I’m not sayin’ how many, mind you—I’ve figured out it’s best to go along and not question.”

  “Gramps didn’t have the right to involve Dan this way. He was disappointed in me and wanted me to do something different with my life.”

  “Now that’s just not so. I spoke to Ben Marshall not two months ago, and all he talked about was you. He was proud as punch, you bet. So, you get that thought out of your head, you hear?”

  Tears backed up in her throat and she nodded.

  Ozzie patted her hand, looked away, typically a man uncomfortable with a woman about to start squalling all over him.

  “I came lookin’ for you to ask a favor,” Ozzie said.

  “Of me?”

  “Yep. For all those months we spent together in the war, Ben and me were like family. Since he’s not here to do the honors himself, I wondered if you’d let me be his stand-in and give you away.”

  Now the tears that had been stuck in her throat worked their way to her eyes. “Oh, damn, my mascara’s gonna run down my face and I’ll look like a circus clown,” she murmured, then clapped her free hand over her mouth.