Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Page 7

  Ozzie cackled. “We’re in the courthouse. Cursin’ is allowed. Besides, that accent of yours just plum tickles me. Makes the words sound perfectly polite and respectable, you bet.”

  Amy repeated the word in her mind as Ozzie dabbed at her cheeks with his white handkerchief. Day-am. Didn’t sound so respectable to her. She was used to hearing herself talk, never considered that she had an accent, just that everyone else sounded different.

  “So, what do you say, Miss Amy?” He put the handkerchief back in the pocket of his western-cut suit jacket. “Will you do me the honor of letting me walk you down the aisle?”

  She sighed, touched beyond words, actually glad to have his support. Her knees were shaking like mad.

  “It would be my honor, kind sir. Though I imagine we’ll have to pretend on the aisle since we’re just going before the judge.”

  “Ah, now. I see you’ve not yet taken into consideration the determination of this here town. Why the ladies can plan a wedding faster than a cowboy can rope a steer. There’ll be an aisle.”

  He led her toward the room the judge had designated to perform weddings in, but her steps slowed at the last minute.

  Ozzie looked at her patiently, waiting for whatever she had to say.

  “Are you sure this isn’t going to hurt Dan? The fact that I’m going in there with the express purpose of obtaining a piece of paper and only planning to stay for the required three months? I’m embarrassed that the whole town knows I’ve got one foot out the door before I’ve even stepped all the way in.”

  Ozzie patted her hand again. “My Vanessa always said folks shouldn’t place too much store on what everybody else thinks, and just concentrate on their own selves. She was a right smart lady, the school-teacher here. Made it a point to teach every one of the younguns that same lesson. You just put those worries out of your mind now. Your heart’s in the right place. That’s what’s important.”

  She squeezed Ozzie’s arm, kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Ozzie. I can see why Gramps called you ‘friend.”’

  OUTWARDLY, DAN WAS CALM. Inwardly he was a mess. He was the one who usually officiated at weddings. He’d even performed a couple at the courthouse.

  He understood why Amy wanted it here rather than at the church, though. She was thinking about him. Wanting to take as much focus off what she perceived as the morality issues as possible. So were the vows any less sacred in a courthouse than in a church?

  Not likely. But she’d been adamant. How could he ignore the pleading in her misty green eyes, the earnestness in that soft Southern drawl?

  He looked around at all of his friends who’d gathered to witness the occasion, to lend their friendship and support and give their blessings—regardless of the circumstances or the outcome.

  Where before this had been a town filled with bachelors and very few women and children, now the balance had shifted. Most of his buddies were married and settled into family life. Dan had performed the services himself.

  Something was in the air—granted the four town meddlers had dipped their fingers in, giving a nudge. Ozzie Peyton and company. Dan nearly laughed out loud.

  The old guys were rubbing their hands together, he could tell. They claimed that they were led by God above. Funny how God hadn’t mentioned anything to Dan himself over intentions to subtly maneuver the town’s men into marriage, but Dan hadn’t figured it was his business to butt in with what the geezers were continually plotting.

  “Show time,” he murmured when Lester Russo came into the room, wearing the black robe that marked his profession.

  When Dan was nineteen, he’d stood before this man and been sentenced to three months of community service.

  Now that same man was going to perform his marriage ceremony.

  He noticed the familiar way the judge was bending close to speak to Mildred Bagley. He’d had an inkling that the two had been keeping company lately. Now there was an explosive combination.

  The judge patted Mildred’s shoulder and she trilled with laughter. Smiling, his step springier than normal, he moved to take his place in front of Dan.

  “About time I get to perform a marriage in my own chambers. I was put out with you when you hogged in on the Stratton and the Bodine unions. I’m still a little put out that you didn’t let me do this over at your church. Since you’ve usurped my place here several times, I was looking forward to encroaching on your territory.”

  Dan laughed. “I guess I hadn’t realized we were in competition.”

  “Of course, we’re in competition. And it’s not nice to one-up your elders. However, I’m feeling somewhat mollified by today’s events. Here, now, isn’t that a lovely sight.”

  Dan turned and saw Amy on Ozzie’s arm. His heart stuttered. She met his gaze, held it for a charged moment, a moment that caused the room to recede, to encompass only the two of them.

  Then a distressed look came over her face, and she whispered something to Ozzie, let go of his arm and bolted from the room.

  His heart sank to his stomach, but before he could go after her, Ozzie shook his head, and Dan checked the impulse.

  She was back in a moment, handing a camera to Ozzie. He should have known. She rarely took two steps without her prized Nikon. For some reason, that simple act of consistency calmed him, made him wonder why he’d felt so bereft when it appeared she’d changed her mind.

  Soft music filled the room, amplified from a portable stereo that had more buttons and gadgets than the control panel of a 747 jet. Ethan Callahan’s, he noted. Figures. Those Callahan guys owned more fancy sound equipment and big-boy toys than anyone.

  When Amy drew next to him, he reached for her hand. It was ice-cold and trembling. He smiled, pulled her close.

  “Relax,” he whispered. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Who gives this woman in marriage?” the judge asked.

  “I believe that’d be my honor,” Ozzie said. “As mayor of this here town and friend of Ben Marshall, you bet.”

  The judge glared, cleared his throat. “A simple ‘I do’ would have been sufficient.”

  “Didn’t want to upstage the bride and groom’s line,” Ozzie countered, eyes twinkling.

  “Sit down, Peyton,” the judge ordered, clearly intending to show who was in control in his courtroom.

  Amy, who was such a wreck she feared she’d throw up, looked from the judge to Ozzie. The morning was going from bizarre to outright crazy. The judge and mayor fussing like two old crows over the same worm. Honestly.

  When she saw the obviously tickled smile on Dan’s face, her own smile grew. “Are they always like this?”

  “Always. Seems to have gotten worse since Lester’s been keeping company with Mildred.”

  “Can I please have some order and respect in my court?” Judge Russo demanded.

  Amy snapped to attention. Everything would be all right, she thought. The unorthodox bickering and talking insured that this wouldn’t be a traditional ceremony. And that knowledge was just what she needed to calm her nerves.

  “Yes, sir. I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

  Dan lifted a brow, and the judge, mollified, nodded and proceeded.

  Aware of the circumstances, or coached beforehand by Dan, the judge didn’t sermonize, but got right down to business.

  In a daze, by rote, Amy spoke when she was prompted and didn’t dwell on the words, didn’t allow herself to consider the sacred promises. They were simply a means to an end. In fact, the judge nearly rushed them through the “I do’s.”

  Then came the flair of dramatics. With a snap, he closed the book.

  “By the power granted to me by the state of Montana, I pronounce you husband and wife. Dan, you have my express permission to kiss your bride.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. Oh, no. She hadn’t considered this part.

  Dan’s smile was slow and one hundred percent male. “It’s customary.”

  Her palms went damp and her heart thudded. He slid his hands up her neck, his fi
ngers spearing gently through her hair, and drew her face ever so slowly to his.

  It was a seduction. Pure and simple. Right here in the courthouse with the whole town looking on. He gazed at her as though she’d hung the moon and stars, as though this was real…as though she were the love of his life.

  With his eyes open, he made sure he had her complete attention, held it for a long, humming moment, then slowly lowered his head until his lips touched hers.

  She expected him to just give her a brief peck.

  Instead he pulled her into the kiss and lingered. Oh, how he lingered. His skin was freshly shaven and smooth, his lips soft and masculine. A hint of cologne filled her nostrils, a combination of citrus and sandalwood.

  Their bodies weren’t touching. Just their lips. He held her in place with only his hands gently cradling her face. And with his mouth.

  Her first thought was What can he be thinking? After that, she ceased to think. Her eyes closed, blotting out the room, the people, the reason they were here. Nothing existed except the two of them and this kiss.

  And, oh, what a kiss. His mouth opened slightly over hers, yet he didn’t use his tongue, didn’t push for carnality or make her jaw ache trying to adjust to the fit.

  The fit was perfect.

  Sensuality radiated in waves, but uppermost was romance.

  This was the most romantic meeting of lips she’d ever encountered. She’d seen photographs that depicted what she was feeling at this very moment, but she’d never actually experienced it.

  When he lifted his head, she knew her expression was stunned. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted longer than a slow count of five, but it was the longest, most exquisitely life altering count of five she’d ever imagined.

  The sound of clapping snapped her back to the present. Dazed, she turned to her new neighbors and friends and smiled, tried to cover the turmoil inside her.

  For the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a single word to speak to her husband. So she stepped away from him, glad when his friends moved in to shake his hand, avert his attention, glad when the ladies circled her like excited sorority sisters who’d just found out she’d been pinned by the star quarterback.

  In this case, the town minister.

  Oh, my gosh, what had she gotten herself into? What had Gramps gotten her into?

  And where in the world had Dan Lucas learned to kiss like that?

  TWO HOURS LATER, Dan and Amy politely made their escape. She slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep and raised a brow at Dan, who was checking out the windows and grinning like a fool.

  “Are you getting in or not?”

  He shrugged and opened the passenger door. “Guess it wouldn’t look too good if we split up so soon.”

  She closed her eyes, reminded again that this wasn’t real. She’d been feeling out of sorts ever since that kiss. As though he were a true husband and this was a love match, Dan hadn’t left her side during the reception that had followed.

  The ladies had prepared a potluck worthy of a five-star dinner party, complete with a wedding cake baked and decorated by Eden Stratton. Dora Callahan had appropriated Amy’s camera from Ozzie and snapped enough photos to fill two albums.

  Amy could still taste the butter cream frosting on her lips. And the taste of that incredible ceremonial kiss.

  Although she only had to move her Jeep five hundred yards, from the courtyard parking lot to the rectory behind the church, some romantic soul had scrawled “Just Married” on her back window and tied a set of cowbells to the bumper that made an attention-drawing racket.

  Dan took it in stride.

  Amy felt conspicuous.

  She shut off the Jeep’s engine in front of the Colonial-style two-story house, vowing to get rid of those annoying cowbells and take a bucket of soapy water and sponge to erase the shoe-polish words.

  The sooner things got back to normal—or as normal as could be expected—the better.

  She hoisted a suitcase out of the back and Dan grabbed a cumbersome crate, his muscles straining, testing the seams of his suit jacket. He might have looked like a powerful businessman except for the Stetson on his head and the pointy-toed boots on his feet.

  “Man alive, what’s in here?”

  “Film-processing equipment.”

  “Heavy stuff.”

  The conversation felt stilted. She didn’t know how to act, was jumpy as a cat as she preceded him into the house.

  This wasn’t a traditional wedding day, so there would be no wedding night.

  Which made that mind-blowing kiss at the altar even more confusing. Darn it, she had to stop thinking about that—obsessing on it.

  “Where should I put my things?”

  “There’re six bedrooms. Choose any one you want.”

  “Except yours.” Cryin’ all night. Why had she said that? She didn’t know where to look, certainly didn’t want to meet his eyes. The man saw too much, would likely read her mind—which had taken on a will of its own and was wallowing in areas it had no earthly business wallowing in.

  Dan set down the box. “Here, let me help you with that suitcase.”

  She tightened her hold on the handles. “I’m fine. I can take it from here.” It was a petty stand to make, but she did it anyway. She’d given up so much already, relied on him too much.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, evidently feeling as uncomfortable as she was.

  “How do you want to work this?”

  He was talking about the tension between them born of the knowledge that they’d be living in close quarters for the next three months. That had been one of the stipulations in the will.

  Amy shrugged. “Like roommates, I guess.”

  “Roommates,” he repeated, his expression bland, unreadable. “All right. I’ve got a sermon to prepare. If you need me, I’ll be in the study.”

  If you need me.

  That was the problem. She didn’t want to need him.

  Not knowing what else to do, Amy lugged her suitcase up the wide oak staircase, peering into rooms as she passed.

  The bedrooms were all furnished, the house large and welcoming with its warm-toned woods and homemade quilts. She chose a room decorated in soothing hues of cream and ivory, telling herself the decor appealed to her senses, not the fact that it was directly across the hall from the master suite—Dan’s room.

  She ran her hand over the down comforter and flannel case covering the feather pillow. This home had obviously been built for ministers with big families. It fairly cried out for children to fill its hallways and many rooms.

  She felt a pang of guilt again. She wouldn’t be the woman to give the current minister those children. She was only breezing into his life for a short time.

  Feeling restless, needing to clear her head, she changed into warm clothes, grabbed her cameras and went out back to explore.

  Her boots crunched over the patchy snow. Breathing in the crisp winter air, ever watchful for life around her, she snapped photos of everything, from blades of grass to the scuttling clouds in the sky, never censoring her choices or thinking twice, having learned that amazement could result from what appeared totally mundane. Every shot, no matter how seemingly insignificant, had the potential to be the next big break.

  And Amy believed with all her heart that someday, the coveted Pulitzer Prize would be hers. She wanted it with a fierceness she could taste.

  “For you, Dad,” she whispered.

  She didn’t question a single impulse that compelled her to depress the shutter.

  When she came to the frozen creek, she paused, the thin ice reminding her of her father’s sacrifice, and now Dan’s.

  “No sense dwelling,” she said aloud. “What’s done is done.”

  The clear two-note whistle of a chickadee drew her attention. Perched atop the gray branch of a naked cottonwood tree, she might have missed the bird if not for its inky-black feathery cap and bib. The tiny chickadee ruffled its white-edged wings and burst into c
arefree song. Fee-beee, fee-beee.

  Adjusting the focus and light on the Nikon, she went down on one knee, uncaring as damp earth seeped through the fabric of her jeans. Against the vast blue sky, the little bird clung to the spindly branches of the tree like a rope climber shimmying for purchase.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her and she blew the next shot.

  Dan put a finger to his lips and pointed to the left. A doe wandered down from a knoll, paused. Used to watching, waiting, Amy remained still, her camera poised. She got off a few shots, deciding she would underexpose the film, give the image a muted cast rather than sharp clarity.

  She didn’t expect the animal to come close enough for the perfect shot. She could smell the subtle sandalwood scent of Dan’s cologne, the same scent that had engulfed her senses when he’d kissed her at the wedding, the same scent that still filled her mind.

  The deer would catch the scent, too.

  Sure enough, the creature lifted her head, nose to the wind, then darted back the way she’d come. Amy lowered her camera.

  “That would have been a beautiful shot if she’d come closer,” he said.

  “She knew we were here.”

  “I didn’t see her looking.”

  “She smelled us. One of us is wearing cologne.”

  “Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t think I’d used a heavy hand.”

  Lest he think she was criticizing, she smiled. “You didn’t. And it’s very nice.”

  “Nice to catch a woman, but not a deer.”

  Her heart bumped in her chest. His penchant for blurting out things like that continually caught her off guard.

  “Were you hoping to catch a woman?” Had he especially worn that sexy scent for her?

  “Looks like I already did.”

  He’d changed out of his suit and was back to looking like a hunky cowboy. Used to working around men, Amy didn’t normally respond to a pretty face or flirty come-on. With Dan, that’s all she seemed able to do. Respond.

  Cryin’ all night.

  Deciding it wasn’t wise to pursue this line of conversation, she changed the subject. “You didn’t stay in the study for long. Did you finish the sermon?”