Preacher's In-Name-Only Wife Read online

  “I had a little trouble concentrating.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess we both feel a little uncomfortable.”

  “Speak for yourself. Now me, I just figured it was remiss of me to leave you on your own so soon.”

  His tone was easy and light. And darn it all, flirty. What was the matter with him? It seemed utterly ridiculous to suggest that they set some rules of conduct—for all she knew, he flirted with every woman and she was merely overreacting. For goodness’ sake, the man was an absolute enigma.

  “You don’t have to change your life for me.”

  “I don’t intend to. Nothing says I can’t take a break and do a little moonlighting as a tour guide.”

  The only thing remotely resembling a tourist attraction was a ranch house off in the distance, looking small and insignificant against the vast landscape. “Not much touring. It’s so flat, you can see for miles. But it’s beautiful.”

  “Yes. Let’s walk a bit.” With a hand beneath her elbow, he gallantly helped her to her feet and steered her along the bank of the frozen creek, where patchy snow clung to the ground, shoots of brown grass poking through. The smell of damp earth and wood smoke from nearby chimneys permeated the air.

  “Whose ranch is that over yonder?”

  “Chance and Kelly Hammond’s. When we were buddies growing up, Chance’s family had a big outfit about five miles outside of town. Then Judith decided to open the gallery in Helena, so they sold the place because Chance didn’t want the responsibility of a big ranch. He bought that place because it was closer to town.”

  “He and Kelly are newly married.”

  “Yes. And they have a couple of the cutest girls. We’ve claimed the littlest one as our Christmas miracle. She didn’t speak when she came to town, her little voice trapped in silence over the horror of seeing her father get electrocuted.”

  “Oh, my gosh, how awful.”

  “Mmm. But the power of love and faith is amazing. The children in town kept insisting they were seeing an angel.”

  “Do you believe angels exist?”

  He smiled. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to here.”

  Yes, she had forgotten. “Are you saying you saw one?”

  “Christmas Eve. We were all gathered in town around the Christmas tree. And for the first time in six months, little Kimberly Anderson pointed and spoke. We were all so moved and astonished by her voice, we weren’t sure what we’d seen.”

  Amy felt chills race over her arms. “What did she look like? The angel?”

  “A lot like Ozzie Peyton’s late wife, Vanessa.”

  “You’re pulling my leg.”

  He raised his hand as though giving an oath. “Miracles are around every corner, Amy. We just get too caught up in life to look for them.”

  They walked in silence for a while, Amy thinking about phenomena and things that couldn’t be explained away tidily and rationally.

  Like why a person found themselves at a shaky crossroads in the map of life. If, as Dan believed, there was a divine purpose in everything.

  “See that knoll over there?” he said, pointing. “That’s the original Shotgun Ridge. You can’t see it from here, but on the other side is the founding Malone’s old homestead.”

  “It’s still intact?”

  “Of course. It’s our historical monument. The cowboys around here use it as a line shack every once in a while, but it’s our main claim to history. When weather takes its toll, different folks will step in and do repairs.”

  “This would be Wyatt Malone’s ancestors?”

  “Mmm, watch your step.” He steered her around a patch of scrubby sage.

  “So why isn’t this Malone City or something instead of Shotgun Ridge?”

  “Ah, I’m glad you asked.”

  She felt a smile bloom inside her. This man loved to tell a story.

  “Back in the 1800s, William Malone fell in love with the land and decided this was where he’d build his family a home. He had a vision, and since there was talk of a railroad coming through not far from here, he left his wife and three kids at the homestead and went off to sell a string of mustangs to get money to build a town and hopefully convince other folks to join him.”

  “That seems like a big undertaking. To build a town.”

  “Hard for us to imagine, perhaps. Anyway, Addie Malone was as brave as she was beautiful. William had been gone several weeks when a renegade band of thieves showed up. Determined to protect her kids and her land, she did what was needed. And when William rode up, along with several other families he’d persuaded to join him, the sight that greeted them was Addie Malone, standing strong and proud on the ridge behind the house, a shotgun still in her hands and five dead thieves on the ground. They had their first town meeting right then and there and agreed that their new town would be called Shotgun Ridge.”

  Amy smiled. She could picture it in her mind, depicted in a photograph, a brave woman in a simple shirtwaist dress to her ankles, the light of battle and a mother’s love in her eyes.

  “The Malone children have quite a role model to live up to.”

  “They’re up to the task. We all are since this is our town. Though I have to say we’ve taken a fair amount of lecturing from Ozzie Peyton over it lately. I’m surprised he didn’t grab you right away and tell you the story of Addie Malone.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a campaign he and his buddies have undertaken. A couple of years ago, he and his pals formed what we’re now fondly calling the matchmaker group, claiming it was a sad thing that a woman was responsible for guarding and naming the town, yet the community had dwindled down to predominantly a male population. They set out to draw women here, took out ads for mail-order brides and organized a bachelor auction. They’ve meddled and maneuvered without shame.”

  “It appears to have worked. I saw plenty of women and children at Brewer’s the other night…and today.”

  He grinned. “Yes. I must admit, I found myself unwittingly drawn into the plans a time or two. I like it, though, what’s happening to our town. It does my heart good to see it blossoming again. I can’t imagine living anyplace else.”

  The pride in his voice when he spoke of his town was unmistakable. “Did you always feel this way? Know you wanted to set down roots?”

  “Probably. Though as a teen I didn’t give it much thought, took it for granted. What about you? Didn’t you feel your roots tied to Georgia?”

  “No. I focused on Dad’s travels, couldn’t wait to pack my bags and follow in his footsteps. From the time I was a little girl, that’s been my dream. I made maps and hung them on my bedroom wall, stuck pins in the places he’d been, charted each course he took. His life was a grand adventure. He’d call at night, describe it all to me, what he’d seen through the lens of his camera, the people he’d met.”

  “Seductive.”

  She jolted, didn’t expect him to use descriptive words like that. But the description was right on target.

  It also accurately depicted the gaze he directed down at her, the complete focus he gave her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Very seductive.”

  For the longest moment, they stared at each other. Then Amy stepped back.

  She was reading things into a turn of phrase or a look that simply weren’t there.

  For pity’s sake, the blinding knowledge that this was her wedding day was playing with her mind. That’s all there was to it.

  And it was going to stop. Right now.

  In name only, Amy. Remember it.

  Now, if this sexy preacher would just quit looking at her as though she were a blonde in a Corvette convertible, she might survive these next three months.

  Chapter Six

  At the rate she was going, Amy figured she’d have a bleeding ulcer when her three months were up and would end up blowing her shot at the National Geographic job.

  It was Sunday morning. She was the preacher’s wife, about to hear her husband give a sermon. Sh
e didn’t imagine it would go over well with folks if she skipped church the day after she’d married their minister.

  What was she supposed to wear?

  Oh, Gramps, what were you thinking?

  Her wardrobe ranged from one end of the scale to the other—risqué to sloppy-casual, with very little in between. The risqué items were due to her night job, the casual ones geared toward her photography career needs.

  Respectable preacher’s wife dresses were as noticeably scarce in her closet as bird droppings in a cuckoo clock.

  Well, never let it be said she was a woman who wouldn’t ask directions. Tightening the satin sash on her robe, she barreled out of her room and ran smack-dab into a solid wall of masculine flesh.

  “Oh, my gosh. I didn’t expect to…”

  “Likewise. Is the house on fire?”

  If it had been, she couldn’t have moved to save her own life.

  The man only wore a towel around his waist.

  His chest was wide and firm beneath her hands, covered by a light sprinkling of mahogany hair, and his skin was warm and damp. He smelled of soap and shampoo.

  Through the thin layer of her silk robe and the terry-cloth towel, it was impossible not to feel his reaction to their unexpected encounter.

  A typical male reaction of arousal.

  The body contact sent a pulse of desire racing from her belly straight to her femininity. She flushed and jumped away from him like a scalded cat, determined not to cast her gaze downward to verify the ridge of desire her body had felt.

  She cleared her throat, looked away. “Um, I was coming to find out what to wear.”

  “Anything you like.”

  How could he just stand there and speak so calmly? Especially since he was, well… “Help me out here. What are you wearing?”

  “A towel at the moment.”

  That’s all it took. Her eyes dipped down. She groaned.

  “Amy—”

  She held up her hand. “I know. You’re a man. It’s just…I hadn’t counted on…oh, damn it, never mind. What are you going to wear to church?”

  He smiled. “Testy in the mornings, I see.”

  “Would you just hush up and answer the question so I can go hide in the nearest hole for the next century or so?”

  That sent him into a gale of laugher. “Please don’t. I’d have to answer way too many questions about your disappearance.”

  She curled her fingers into her sweaty palms. Looking at his bare chest wasn’t helping her any more than looking at the front of his towel. Her fantasies were having a field day.

  “Clothes, Dan,” she reminded.

  “Hmm. I never knew roommates discussed wardrobes. This is new to me.”

  “Yes, well, pretend I’m your sister and help me out.”

  His gazed rested on her hair, caught up in a messy ponytail. “I only had brothers.”

  She glared at him. “Pretend.”

  He laughed. “Let’s see. I had in mind my gray suit with the white shirt. I’ve got a cool tie that the ladies give me plenty of compliments on—has red chili peppers and little bottles of hot sauce on it…what?” he asked, obviously responding to her frown. “You don’t think that’s appropriate?”

  “No. I’m sure it’s fine.” Her mind was racing over a mental inventory of her clothes. Why hadn’t she planned for this?

  Cryin’ all night, she’d come here to be a preacher’s wife.

  That meant going to church, being respectable.

  “I just thought maybe…that people might be a little more, uh, casual.”

  “Ah. This is a dress or pants question, right?”

  “’Fraid so. And you get extra points if you say pants.”

  He laughed and didn’t appear to have any trouble letting his gaze settle on the contours of her body beneath the robe.

  Honestly, she was trying so hard not to ogle him. The least he could do was return the favor.

  “Folks wear pretty much what they want. We’re not formal. When it’s cold like this, we opt for comfort. So, anything you wear will be fine. This is a come-as-you-are church, with the emphasis on coming.”

  Her jaw went slack.

  She was certain he hadn’t meant that in a sexual way. But given the undercurrents arcing between them in the hallway, and the way his arousal had moments ago tented the front of his towel, that’s exactly how she took it.

  With a hand gripping the lapels of her robe, she mumbled a thank-you and fled back to the safety of her room, wishing like mad she wasn’t going to have to face him again.

  In the church.

  “Oh, Lord, this is a mess. Give me strength.”

  DAN LEFT THE HOUSE early so he’d be on hand to greet the congregation. He’d hated to leave Amy on her own, but he didn’t have any idea how long she’d take to get ready. He didn’t picture her as the type to primp, but she’d been especially flustered this morning and had nearly taken his head off when he’d knocked on her bedroom door after their hallway encounter.

  Man alive, that particular escapade was going to give him a bad moment or two. He was sure of it. His concentration was zip to none.

  By rote, he shook Stony Stratton’s hand when the other man stopped on the threshold of the sanctuary, then forgot to release it.

  As though he’d been struck dumb, blind and mute, he froze.

  Amy stood uncertainly at the bottom of the church steps.

  She wore a pair of brown slacks and a beige scooped-neck top. The material of both items apparently included a healthy percentage of spandex, because they hugged her curves in a way that was even sexier than the silky robe he’d last seen her in had been.

  Chic and sexy, he thought. Beautiful. A soft cardigan sweater hung open over her top, skimming her breasts. Her lips shimmered with coral gloss and she’d swept her rich chestnut hair into an updo that screamed sensuality when he was certain she’d been aiming for sedate.

  “You might want to turn loose of my hand,” Stony commented dryly. “Folk’ll start to talk.”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” He laughed to cover the turmoil in his gut. Get a grip, man.

  “No need to be. I have the same problem when my own wife walks into a room.”

  “She’s not…” Dan decided to shut his mouth. He’d been about to say she wasn’t his wife. But she was. For now.

  Stony went inside and Dan looked down at Amy. She still stood frozen at the bottom of the church steps. Well, good. No sense in him being the only one impersonating a statue.

  His male ego wanted to believe it was the sight of him that caused her hesitation. His rational mind told him it was the unfamiliar situation.

  He raised his brows and held out a hand. “You coming in?”

  “If you insist.”

  He grinned. He really did enjoy this woman. “I promise we don’t sacrifice beautiful women at the altar. You’ll be safe.” He took her hand and helped her up the last step. “You look very nice.”

  A twinkle of mischief sparkled in her green eyes. “Evidently better than nice. You, Pastor Dan, were staring.”

  “Guilty. Now say ‘Thank you, Dan, for the compliment.”’

  “Thank you, Dan, for the compliment.”

  “Just what I like. An obedient woman.”

  “In your dreams, pal.”

  His laughter rang out as he led her inside, causing heads to turn and smiles to light up. “Spunky, too.”

  “Oh, hush up, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To sit down so we can get this show on the road.”

  Her hand whipped out and wrapped around the post of an empty pew, nearly pulling his arm out of the socket as she brought them up short. He had to do some fancy footwork to backtrack.

  “I can just scoot right in here.”

  “I have a rule in my church. No one’s allowed to sit in the back row unless there’s standing room only. As you can see for yourself, the population only fills us up about
three-quarters.”

  “Fine, I’ll just—”

  “Amy, when my father was pastor here, my mother always sat in the front row.”

  “I’m not your mother.”

  Major understatement. The memory of her warm body, naked beneath a satiny robe, flashed in his mind. “No, but you’re my wife.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. The minister’s wife sits in front.”

  “Usually. Unless she’s playing the piano, but that job’s already filled by Kelly Hammond.”

  “Good thing. I can’t play a note.”

  “Then we won’t ask you to. And if it’ll make you uncomfortable, you don’t have to sit up front.”

  She sighed, and his gaze was drawn to the way her chest rose and fell.

  Oh, man.

  Maybe it would be better all around if she did sit in the back—behind the tallest man in the congregation.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  That made one of them. He wasn’t so sure about himself.

  Amy compromised and sat in the second row next to Emily and Cheyenne Bodine. She gazed at the twin babies, one dressed in blue, the other in pink, and smiled. They were cuties, both sleeping like angels.

  “Morning, Miz Lucas,” Cheyenne said.

  Amy frowned and looked around. Then she realized he meant her. Lucas. Amy Lucas. That was her.

  “Um…good morning.” This was crazy. The whole town knew the reason for the marriage. To fulfill the obligation of a will.

  They also knew she’d married the preacher. She’d thought it was understood that this was simply an expediency sort of thing.

  Then why did it feel as though every word spoken or look given or question asked came with a gently knowing tone?

  It was like a conspiracy, and her…her husband was in fine form, as well, teasing, using sexual innuendo like…like coming. This is a come-as-you-are church, with the emphasis on coming.

  With her hands clasped primly in her lap, knees together and heels flat on the floor, she sat like a statue guarding a nickel arcade, and watched Dan’s killer smile and infectious laughter light up the room.

  He thanked the Malones for the donation of the flowers, advised everyone not to get carried away as he invited the congregation to stand up and greet their neighbor, then openly teased Kelly Hammond by telling her he was going to introduce a new hymn they didn’t have sheet music for, just to see if she could keep up.